


DystopianTale (Undertale AU)

by FandomArtist1273



Series: DystopianTale [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Puns, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Female Chara (Undertale), Fluff and Angst, Frisk is non-binary, Gaster is an asshole, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm begging please tell me if I'm doing this right, Ink and Error are engaged, It takes a while but red is in this too, Kustard (freeform), Like he's literally the worse, M/M, Nightmare is a soft baby, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Protective Error, Psychological Torture, Revolution AU, Romance, Sans (Undertale) Needs a Hug, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Torture, We got kidnapping, Y'all want some kidnapping?, and he's a hot history teacher, and torture, homies to homos, oh boy, so is ink, they all do
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 102,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23604037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomArtist1273/pseuds/FandomArtist1273
Summary: After the monsters win the monster/human war, most humans are whipped out, monsters taking over. Now, in the year 2113, Frisk and Chara are two of the few humans left in BlightView: the monster capital of the world, ruled over by King W.D Gaster, with his adoptive son, Dream, by his side. But like anything, the Castle holds many dark secrets of its own...And of course, nothing is as it seems in the city as well, as it is that most people who don’t live in or near the city centre have it extremely rough, all being treated roughly and unfairly, living in poor conditions. A rebellion is soon formed in the “slums”, the outskirts of BlightView, run by Error, along with other misfits, like small, rundown Sans, who lives with a grieving Asgore outside of the city, and an enraged Cross, who wishes for nothing more than revenge, and young Killer, a boy who grew up in the slums without parents and a strange medical condition. The rebellion is the city’s last hope.*It takes me a while to writes and post chapters, so please be kind and patient with me <3
Relationships: Alphys/Undyne (Undertale), Cream - Relationship, Cross/Dream, Dream/Cross, Errink, Error/Ink, Ink/Error, Killer/Nightmare, Killermare, NightKiller, Nightmare/Killer, Sans/Red, Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Series: DystopianTale [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698970
Comments: 96
Kudos: 183





	1. ~Chapter 1~

**Author's Note:**

> For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/B5l28mWAbPj/?igshid=8pwo38p4b4fh) or [Tumblr](https://fandomartist1273.tumblr.com/post/189150992336/nisha-i-really-wanted-to-make-a-fanchild-soooo)

“Decades ago, a war took place on our once peaceful lands.

However, this wasn't just any war, for it was the largest, most deadliest fight monsters, and humans alike, had ever seen. The conflict itself was caused by fear: humans were scared of us monsters, and the power we wielded. It's common knowledge that a human’s soul is incredibly stronger than a single monster’s soul, but that does not mean we are weak, quite the opposite in fact. What monsters lack in soul power, we make up for in raw, natural magic. Humans can also harness magic, with enough effort, but it will never be as pure, nor as strong, as a monster’s magic. 

Humans, being selfish and greedy, believed they could absorb our power by killing us all. This influx of power would make them unstoppable. So, they attacked us.

We fought back valiantly and, ultimately, won the battle. We lost many of our kind because of this terrible battle, and certain monster species have since gone extinct. However, we were prosperous compared to our foes; partly because after the Great Battle, almost no humans remained. They were all but wiped from existence. To this day, their numbers are still remarkably low compared to monsters, making them…”

Nightmare yawned, staring with boredom at the small nanoscreen in front of him and his twin, Dream. The two princes were sitting in the royal gardens behind the large castle. It was early spring, so the garden was exploding with vibrant greens, and flowers were popping out of the fresh soil, blooming and filling the air with a faint floral scent. It was a warm, and sunny day, Nightmare and his brother were shielded from the warm rays by the leaves and branches of the largest tree in the garden, one they affectionately called “grandpa oak”. Around them, castle staff were buzzing about like honey bees, tending to the flowers, shrubs and other plants the young boy didn't know the name of. The grass was soft beneath him, and the warmth was beginning to make him restless. The last thing he wanted to do right now was watch a tiring lecture about the kingdom's history. Unlike his twin (who was technically ten minutes older, and who took every chance he got to remind Nightmare of such), he honestly didn't have much interest in how BlightView, the city his parents dutifully governed over, came to be, or how it runs now. Dream seemed to be absolutely enthralled when it came to these sorts of lessons, which was clear to see by the way his large, star shaped eyelights shone on the screen, seeming to sparkle.

While Dream and Nightmare were twins, they were not identical. Dream had bright, yellow, star shaped eyelights, while Nightmare had two circular ones, one being a shockingly bright blue, and the other a simple purple. The other obvious difference between the boys were their birthmarks: Dream had a small, yellow star on his left cheek, and the other prince had a crack over his right eye.

Flopping down onto the grass, the boy sighed. His twin huffed slightly, looking back at him briefly and pausing the video their parents had told them to watch. “Nighty, come on. You can't pay attention if you're laying down!” 

The younger of the two twins stuck out his tongue, gaze lazily roaming around the garden again and stopping when he spotted his father in a hustle. He was walking along the path with his royal advisor, a tall skeleton named W.D. Gaster. Nightmare remembered asking what the W.D. stood for once, only to be brushed off and told that it wasn't important. 

The advisor himself was much taller than the king, and Nightmare was pretty sure he was older than his dad as well. 

Grinning, he nudged his brother. “Papa's out!” That quickly caught Dream’s attention, his eyelights snapping to where their father was. “Race you to him?” He added, grin turning mischievous.

With a giggle, Dream grabbed the Nanoscreen, shoving it rather carelessly into his small yellow backpack. “You're on!”

The two boys sprung from their spots, running towards their father. They weaved through the staff, nearly knocking over a young gardener, yelling out to their parent, much to Gaster’s annoyance. 

The king laughed, noticing his two sons easily. He kneeled, the two princes colliding into him. Once the two boys stopped giggling, the king spoke up. “Did you two finish your assignment for today?”

Nightmare pursed his ‘lips’, shaking his head. “It was boring.” 

His father chuckled, rubbing the top of his skull. “It's important for you to learn about our history, Nightmare, you boys will be kings one day.”

Above them, Gaster cleared his throat, clasping his hands. “Your majesty, with all due respect, we still have plenty of things to get done today.” 

Their father sighed, letting go of his sons, and stood. He dusted off his white pants, though the knees on the pants remained a subtle brown. With a sad smile, he said, “Why don’t you two head inside for an afternoon snack? Gaster is correct, we must get back to our duties.” 

With that, the two grown skeletons began walking away, their conversation starting up again. Nightmare wondered briefly what work a king, of all people, had to do, and why Gaster had been so insistent that they get back to work so quickly. This wouldn’t have been the first time the prince had questioned whether or not the advisor actually liked him and his brother or not, and he doubted that’d ever change. The monster always seemed to have an air of displeasure around him. Beside him, Dream was tugging on his hand, drawing him out of his thoughts. “Come on Brother, Mr. Kyo told me they were baking apple tarts today!” 

He smiled, letting his older twin pull him towards the castle. He decided firmly that it didn’t matter to him if Gaster liked him or not, he had his brother, and that’s all that mattered. 

*****

“....Night….”  
“...Nightmare…”

“Nightmare! Wake up!”

Nightmare jolted awake, a squeak escaping him when he noticed his brother hanging upside down from the top bunk of their bed, glaring at him. The light from both of the boys’ eyelights barely illuminated the sheets covering Nightmare, and the white moonlight was shining in through the windows, the blinds having been left open before the princes went to bed that night. “You sleep like a freaking log.”

Dream sat up, scooting down the ladder to sit next to his twin as he yawned. “Sorry… Why’d you wake me up? It’s still dark out.” Nightmare mumbled, rubbing his right eye socket. 

The question seemed to make the yellow eyed monster nervous, he idly fiddled with the hem of his pajama shirt. “... I heard Mama scream. And Papa.”

Nightmare cocked his head to the side. “What?”

The prince huffed, puffing out his cheeks. “I don’t know, ok!? I wanna check on them, and-”

“You’re scared of the dark?”

“...Yeah.” 

Nightmare sighed - sure, he loved his brother dearly, but sometimes he came off incredibly childish. I mean, they were 10! What 10-year-old was ever scared of the dark? “Ok, I’ll go with you to Mama and Papa’s room, but they’re going to be fine, you know.” 

The two boys left their room to the dimly lit corridor outside. The castle’s architecture was styled to look like it was from the middle ages, but the technology inside was highly advanced, and none of the fires were actually real, only illusions created from magic. Nightmare reluctantly took his brother’s hand when he felt him reach out for it, huffing in embarrassment. No wonder everyone in the castle treated them like babies.

The walk to their parent’s room was quick, and when they found themself standing in front of the royal bedroom, they felt a sudden, sharp jab to their souls. The door was surrounded by guards, some with tears in their eyes, all of them talking in hushed whispers. Dream pulled away from his twin, pushing past the guards, pulling their attention to them. With a start, Nightmare followed him, ignoring the guards attempting to stop him and his brother. 

The normally neat and tidy room was in shambles; lamps and vases were shattered on the ground, the curtains and bedsheets ripped and laying in heaps on the ground. The heavy aroma of something coppery assaulted Nightmare’s nose as he stood at the entrance of the messy room, making the small prince feel nauseous. The only other time he had smelled blood like this was when he had been 7, and a guard had come back from a particularly violent bar fight in the city. He and his partner had been sent out to put a stop to the rowdiness after getting multiple calls from the surrounding area. The guard, who’s name Nightmare had forgotten, had come back with a deep cut on his arm, caused after a patron had pulled a small switchblade on the monster. 

That was the first time the twins had learned about what really happened when a monster died (The guard himself didn’t die, but their parents figured this was a good way to easily bring up the topic without it being too jaring). The whole thought of a monster turning to dust seemed absurd to Nightmare at the time. But now, seeing the flaky, white dust that covered the bed and surrounding ground, it seemed more terrifying than unrealistic. 

Gaster stood next to the bed, and although it was probably close to 2 in the morning, he still wore his fitted suit, unwrinkled and unchanged from early that day. He looked too tall in the room, and it felt like the air around him was heavier and thicker than anywhere else, waves of negativity rolling off of him. He watched the princes stare at the clutter with wide, scared eyes.

“You two weren’t supposed to come here.” Gaster’s voice was steady and unemotional. It made the younger of the two princes think of a robot, and if the situation had been anything but this, he would have laughed at the mental image of the Royal Advisor being a machine. 

“Where’s Mama and Papa?!” Dream’s voice wavered, tears pooling in his eyes. The older monster looked down at him with a condescending gaze. The man took a moment to respond, but when he did, Nightmare felt like his whole body would crumble to dust on the spot.

“My apologies, my prince, but the king and queen have been murdered. They are dead.”

Dream let out a small sob, sinking to the floor. Nightmare watched his brother curl up on himself, feeling his own breathing speed up. This had to be a joke. There was no way this was real! A heavy ball was forming deep in his gut, unstable like a hurricane. It lashed out like a whip, striking Nightmare’s soul and spine with a sharp, agonizing lash. He balled his small fists, fighting back his tears. “No. You’re lying!”

“I can assure you that I most certainly am not.” 

“Yes, you are!” The hurricane was growing, dangerously close to consuming Nightmare’s soul in its rage. It lashed out again, striking the middle of the boy’s spine with more force than before. He bit back a yelp. 

“Your majesty, we must ask you to calm down-” It was one of the guards behind him who was talking, and the sound was grating on Nightmare’s ‘ears’. The hurricane inside him suddenly burst, a shockwave of pain coursed through Nightmare’s body, a scream ripping from his throat. He collapsed to the ground, body twitching as pain continued to roll off his body. His spine was the worst of it, seeming to pulse and burn, as if something were trying to escape from inside his bones. 

He felt someone move to his side: Dream. His brother was saying something, probably asking what was happening and if he was ok, but he sounded distant and muffled to Nightmare. His skull felt full of water, heavy and anything he tried to think of that could explain what was happening to him was quickly swept away by the violent waves. His vision was growing cloudy, his body being overwhelmed by the neverending hurricane. 

The hurricane won the battle, flooding his body completely, overriding all his senses.

The world around him went dark as he collapsed to the ground. 

*****

He awoke in the white walled infirmary on one of the sterilized beds. The sheets were strangely crisp and itchy against his cold body. He was rarely in this part of the castle: the infirmary was on the second floor of the castle which was dedicated to the guards. The Armoury, bunk rooms, and an entrance to both the underground dungeon (which was rarely used anymore) and to the outdoor training area in the courtyard. 

His head felt heavy, and his soul and spine ached as if he had been physically beaten. Next to the bed, circled up on one of the metal chairs, was Dream. He was fast asleep, making Nightmare wonder what time it was, and how long he had been out. What had even happened to him in the first place? As far as he could remember, nothing like this had ever happened to him before - thinking about it, he was pretty sure he had never passed out like that either, until now. 

“Ah, Prince Nightmare, you’re finally awake.” The boy jumped slightly, not noticing Gaster had entered the room and was standing by the door. He opened his mouth to speak, but the older monster held out his hand. “I’m sure you have plenty of questions about what you just went through.” He took a seat, crossing his long legs. “I had advised your parents that they should have talked to you about this in your early years, I had a strong feeling this would happen. Sadly, it’ll have to be me to walk you through your unfortunate condition.”

“Condition?” Both Dream and Nightmare were given regular check-ups all throughout their life, and they had always been told they were perfectly healthy (Except for that one time Dream had a horrible flu that lasted a little over a month).

“Yes. You see, when you and your brother were born, the doctors that checked over you noticed something odd about your soul. You see, your majesty, when you experience a large amount of negative emotions, such as anger, grief, and even fear, your soul starts creating an excess amount of magic. As you get older, your body naturally creates more magic for you to survive, so when you create more than you need, it makes more… well, dangerous is not the correct word, but problematic. Your body will need to find a way to release that magic, or it will build up inside you. That’s what caused you to pass out, your body doesn’t know how to clear itself of your built up magic.”

“But why? This doesn’t happen to Dream, why does it happen to me?!”

“I’m afraid we don’t have an answer to that. However, I do have a few ideas of how we could find a way to stop it from happening.” He glanced at the still sleeping boy beside him. “I have not talked to your brother about this, but your parents and I had a conversation long ago about what would happen if they passed on before you two boys were of an age to rule. They said they would want me to take care of you, and rule as king until one of you marry.”

To say Nightmare was surprised was an understatement. Even though his parents had been king and queen, and he’d heard them express their worries of someone trying to hurt them in the past, he never would have guessed that they would plan what would happen if they died! Also, they wanted Gaster, of all people, to care for them? Sure, he was the Royal Advisor, so him taking over as king did technically make the most sense, he would know the most about what his parents did and how to do their job, but the man himself had never shown any real interest in the boys, let alone any kind of friendly care. “Does that mean you’re our dad now?”

A flash of distaste crossed the older skeleton’s feature, but he quickly covered it with his neutral expression again. “I suppose so, yes. If the two of you wish, you can refer to me as your father. Perhaps it’ll even help you to recover from this incident faster.” He stood back up, towering over the 10-year-old-boy. “We’ll start working on those tests next month, to give you time to recover.” 

With that, the new king left, leaving Nightmare alone with his sleeping brother (how he could sleep in that stupid chair, he had no idea) in that blindingly white room.”

*****

Six months.

Their parents had been dead for half a year now. The kingdom was still in mourning, and adjusting to the new ruler. So far, Gaster hadn’t made any serious adjustments to how things were run in Blightview, but for all Nightmare knew, he was only biding his time. 

There were changes, of course. His brother, for one, had changed. It wasn’t much, but it was deafening to Nightmare. Before their parents’ death, Dream had still been childish, had still enjoyed watching cartoons and stealing tarts from the kitchen. Now, while he would still act like a kid before bed or before they had eaten breakfast in the morning, and was still as optimistic as a ray of sunlight; he was focusing on his studies even more than before, and in general seemed to be trying to act older than the two of them really were. Nightmare hadn’t noticed how much he loved his twin’s kiddy side until it was almost completely gone. 

There was also Bethenny Hunt now. A little after Gaster had started really taking over as ruler, he hired a caretaker for the two princes, claiming he didn’t have any time to make sure they weren’t getting into trouble. They’d never needed a nanny before, but Nightmare couldn’t really complain. Bethenny was kind to them, helped them with anything they may need, and could listen to them for hours on end (She probably didn’t have an actual choice on that, but it was still nice to think she was doing it solely because she cared). She was also the only human he had ever met, and he was sure she’d be the only one he’d ever meet.

The last change was one Nightmare didn’t like as much: Gaster’s “tests”. 

When he had first brought the idea up to Nightmare, he had been envisioning Gaster taking a closer examination of his soul, checking his other vitals, maybe even making him say “Ah” so he could look down his throat like other doctors did. 

Instead, Gaster had taken him to a small laboratory in the basement, one Nightmare had never seen before. He had explained that it was his own personal lab, and it was in such a secluded area because he wanted his privacy. 

The room itself wasn’t all that big, and was only lit by a single hanging light in the center. Under that light was a surgical table with restrains screwed into them for the wrists and ankles. A rolling metal cart was next to the table, surgical tools set out neatly on the top, and there was surely more hidden away in the cart’s drawers. There was a small jutted out square in the center of the room. It looked like it was covered in a mirror, but going by the door right next to it, it was most likely a one way mirror. Lastly, hidden amongst the shadows of one of the corners of the room, was a large machine. Nightmare could barely make out any actual details on the mechanism, but he knew it wasn’t anything he wanted near him. 

Gaster got the small prince to lay down on the hard table. Nightmare watched Gaster secure the restraints, locking him in place, a ball of fear forming in his throat. 

For the next hour or so, the man poked and prodded at Nightmare with needles and other instruments the boy didn’t understand. By the end of the session, the king sternly told the prince that he could never tell anyone about what happened in this room, and Nightmare, too scared of what might happen if he disobeyed, promised not to. 

Nightmare would go down to that cold, dark room once or twice a week, and each time the “test” seemed to get more extreme. Today, Gaster said he was going to do something special. The idea of what he was planning was enough to make Nightmare nervous enough to throw up.

“Darling, are you feeling alright? You haven’t even touched your soup.” Nightmare blinked, turning to Bethenny, who sat patiently beside him, watching with concern. Truth be told, he wasn’t hungry, but he knew the pink-haired women would only get more worried if he said that. Monsters didn’t technically need to eat - their bodies were almost all magic, so the food didn’t fuel them like it did with humans, but it still tasted good, so most monsters ate anyway.

Dream had finished eating a while ago, and Nightmare could see him playing in the garden with one of the guards-in-training. The boy, Cross, had apparently been found in the street, and was taken in by one of the guards after expressing his dream of being one himself. Even though he was only a year older than the princes, Nightmare was pretty sure he had heard they were already teaching Cross the basics of fighting and using his magic for both defense and in battle. He was also pretty sure his brother had a huge crush on the boy; especially considering how much time the two spent together and the way Dream’s cheeks would turn soft yellow whenever Cross got just a bit too close; and how much the boy loved to gush about the other skeleton, it was pretty obvious at this point.

“Ah, your majesty, it’s a pleasure to see you.” Nightmare turned, eyelights landing on Gaster’s tall figure in the entrance. He was smiling for once, but there was something about it that unsettled Nightmare more. “Is it time for prince Nightmare’s appointment already?”

Gaster stepped forward, placing his cold hand on Nightmare’s shoulder, sending a shiver down his spine. “It is. I would like Dream and yourself to come with us this time, however.” 

The young prince blinked in surprise. The king had made it very obvious that Bethenny and his brother weren’t supposed to even know about the room, let alone what Gaster did down there to his adoptive son. Regardless, the human woman agreed. She couldn’t say no without risking her job, Nightmare was sure, and went out to usher Dream back inside. The boy went with only minor pouting, saying goodbye to his beloved friend. 

Bethenny and Dream were shooed off to the one-way mirrored room at the back of the lab, then Nightmare was strapped to the table. Through a speaker, Bethenny had asked if he was alright, but Gaster waved her question off. He told them that everything he was doing was safe, and was for Nightmare’s benefit.

If that was true, then why was he so scared? His bones felt on fire, preparing for whatever Gaster decided to poke into them today. Instead of taking something off the metal cart, like usual, he pushed it to the side. He grasped onto the large machine that hadn’t been touched before. Nightmare could see that it was covered in dust, the non-monster kind, and it creaked as the large skeleton pushed it so one of the bulky arms stood above the prince’s skull. At the end of the arm was a mask, looking similar to a gas mask, but there were tubes in the eyes and mouth area.

He jerked against his restraints, struggling to get away. He didn’t want this, there had to be a different way to help him! Gastered gloved hands fell swiftly against Nightmare’s cheek, the sound of the slap echoing in the dark room. The door to the viewing room rattled - had Gaster locked them in? What was his motive in this? “Behave.” He moved to the back of the machine, flipping it on. He then moved the mask closer to him, latching it to the back of his skull. He gagged and thrashed, everything was dark as the plastic tubes entered his eye sockets and mouth. He could feel the hurricane building in his gut for the first time in months. He could hear the machine whir to life, something inside it was moving, it sounded like it was a liquid. There was a thunk, and suddenly a bitter tasting fluid flooded in through the tubes. Nightmare’s scream was choked down, tears pricking his eyes; the hurricane had grown to be much worse than it was the first time he had felt it, beating against his spine and soul. His bones were melting, he was sure of it - they felt on fire, and his spine felt like it was being torn in two. Someone was screaming, he wasn’t sure who, though. Perhaps it was Bethenny. Or Dream.

Most likely it was him. 

Then something burst from his back - it was long and Nightmare could feel its magic flowing through it, he could feel it curl around him with sharp edges. Then another, and another and another. There were four, all spasming and trying to stop whatever was happening to the body they were attached to. Something was covering his right eye - it was sticky and dripped down Nightmare chin. The hurricane itself had calmed down, apparently whatever had torn through his spine had greatly helped - it was changing now, too. It wasn’t fear, or sadness anymore.

It was rage, pure and unkempt. 

With a scream, the tentacles wrapped around the restraints, yanking them from their screws and throwing them to the ground with a clang. Next was the machine - Nightmare grabbed onto it, yanking it off his face and chucking it into the wall. Bits and pieces flew off, smoke stemming from the now ruined contraption. 

Nightmare rolled off the table, his new appendages curling around him protectively, ready to lash out. Gaster was pressed against the cracked mirror, staring at the prince with… fascination? His rage spiked. How dare he?! Was he proud of this? 

One of the tentacles lashed out to him, Gaster was quick to summon a hand to stop him, but the tentacle shattered it easily, striking the king in the shoulder. His eyes widened, obviously surprised the ten year old could overpower him so easily. Blood soaked into his white shirt.

“Why you-” The door to the viewing room burst open, Dream running into the room, quickly latching onto his younger twin.

“Nightmare! Stop it, stop it please!” He was sobbing, each tear smothering the fire of rage in Nightmare’s soul. Slowly, he hugged the other prince gently, the tentacles retreating back into his spine, whatever had been covering his eye and the rest of his bones also disappeared.

Without the anger, the fear returned, worse than before. What had he done?! What had he become because of this odd condition? He sobbed, clinging to the back of his brother's shirt.

Gaster was panting, his magic making the air around him fizzle. Nightmare tried to shrink away - he knew he had done something very wrong. 

“Your majesty-”

“Dream, away from him. Now.”

Dream sniffed, wiping his tears. “But father, he’s-”

“He’s dangerous. He tried to kill me.” His gaze on Nightmare was like venom - had he really tried to kill him? Sure he had been angry, but he would never actually dust another monster.

Would he?

“He is too dangerous to be left in the public, Dream. We must lock him up. It is what’s best for him.”

“But-”

“If you want what’s best for your people, Prince, you will listen to me.”

*****

“Where are you taking me father?”

Dream watched Gaster’s back as he took him back down to the laboratory in the basement - the last time he had been here, his brother had had a full blown breakdown, and was now locked up for his “safety”.

All alone.

The thought sent a wave of guilt over the prince. He knew he should have done more to stick up for him, but truth be told, he was scared of Nightmare after seeing what he was capable of. Admitting that made Dream sick - he knew deep down his brother would never hurt him. And yet, there was still a hook latched to his stomach that would yank and pull at him to run away wherever he got just a bit too close to the other prince. 

“We need to take care of something. After seeing what Prince Nightmare did, well, it could leave lasting impacts on your mental health. It was rather traumatic.” He opened the heavy metal door, gesturing for Dream to go in. The room had been cleaned from the attack, the mirror was replaced and the broken machine, whatever it had been, had been completely removed. “I am going to give you something that will help you deal with it.” He picked up the small monster, placing him on the hard surgical table. The same one Nightmare had been chained to only a few days ago. “Do you trust me to do that?”

After a moment, Dream nodded. “Yes, I trust you father.”

“Good.” He took out a syringe filled with a bright pink liquid. “This will only pinch a bit.”

He pressed the sharp instrument to the prince's bare shoulder, pushing the strange liquid into his bones.

And everything around him went dark. Or that’s what he would remember later on. He would also remember something new: his brother had always been cruel and had hurt him before. 

Gone were the memories of them happily playing, of promising to always be together; they had been replaced with a cold hatred.

Gaster’s plan had succeeded. 

*****

Nightmare pressed his head to his pillow, rubbing the magic shackle that was secured tightly to his neck. After his incident in the lab, Gaster had brought him to the tallest tower in the castle, one he honestly hadn’t known about. He’s beginning to realize there’s a lot about his home he didn’t know about. The door was mechanical with a keypad on the outside, his adoptive father explained that only he and Bethenny would know the code and be able to visit from now on. 

The room itself wasn’t all that bad. The walls were painted a dark purple, and the floor was carpeted. In the center of the room was a low wooden table. There were unlit candles placed on top, along with a small cup filled with pens and pencils. Next to the door was a small cupboard filled with paper and other craft materials. Right next to it was a dresser for his clothes. Beside the dresser was a door to a clean, white bathroom that held a counter, toilet (that Nightmare didn’t need, unless he were to vomit) and a bathtub. There were also more candles - Nightmare couldn’t see any lights or switches, so he was guessing the candles would be his only light source at night. The idea made him shiver - funny how he used to complain about Dream disliking the dark, and here he was, scared of being stuck in the dark. Next to the bathroom door was his bed. It was neatly made with soft purple sheets, and the pillows were soft and fluffy. On the wall behind the bed was a large tapestry of the moon. On the adjacent wall were two large bookshelves filled to the brim with fairy tales, history books, sci-fi’s, romances and everything in between. There was also a singulare window that looked out over the city. The window was blocked by thick metal bars, as if Gaster was scared Nightmare would jump out, even if the fall would mean certain death. 

Before the king left the room; which would leave Nightmare in isolation, for what he guessed would be hours, he’d put the shackles on the young prince. There was one on his neck, wrists and ankles; Gaster told him that they were made for dangerous criminals who couldn’t be trusted to control their magic (That little tid-bit felt like a job to the soul, did his father really think of him as a dangerous criminal?) “This way” He said. “You will not be able to hurt yourself or anyone in the room.”

He’d been in this room - or would it be more accurate to call it a cell? - for two weeks now. Two long, lonely weeks. Bethenny would come to him multiple times a day for meals and school lessons. She told him that Gaster had made an announcment that he had attacked the king and prince, attempting to murder him, and that he was now, sadly, dead - which, of course, was a flat out lie, but there would be mass panic if the kingdom knew he was still alive and relatively well, health wise. 

He’d only seen his brother once, and he was different. Much different. Before, he had been reluctant to believe Nightmare was dangerous, he didn’t actually want to lock up his twin. But now he seemed to full heartedly believe everything Gaster told him: that he was a liar, a traitor, and incredibly dangerous to the both of them. Dream had gone from loving his brother, to absolutely hating him.

And that’s what hurt Nightmare most. 

A firework went off outside Nightmare’s blocked window. With sluggish movements, he sat up and walked over to the window, sitting on his knees and watching as the colourful explosions lit up the sky. 

This happened every year since the twin princes were born. Every year on their birthday, the whole kingdom rejoiced.

This year, Nightmare didn’t feel the excitement he usually did. He was not given cake, or birthday presents, and no one sang happy birthday to him. He was not congratulated for turning eleven.

This party wasn’t for him; he was the forgotten prince. The lost soul.


	2. ~Chapter 2~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/B5l28mWAbPj/?igshid=8pwo38p4b4fh) or [Tumblr](https://fandomartist1273.tumblr.com/post/189150992336/nisha-i-really-wanted-to-make-a-fanchild-soooo)

The room was flooded with darkness, like a lake of ink had been drained in through the top, filling it like a cup. Ink stood in the center of the square room; he only had his sleep wear - gray shorts and an oversized shirt that belonged to his fiance, Error. Like this, the birth marks that covered his bones were clearly visible - swirling patterns cover the pristine white surfaces, telling a story even Ink didn’t know. 

He was alone in the darkness, making his soul hum with anxiety. He and Error had been together for years, and there was rarely an instant where they were away from each other, besides from going to their jobs. He knew Error hated being on his own, of feeling abandoned. After what had happened when they were younger, he couldn’t blame him. That being said, Ink always made it a priority that Error knows where he is or where he’s going, and his partner does the same for him. 

So where was Error? His gaze roamed around the room, trying to figure out where he even was in the first place. The walls were barren, no windows, no pictures, not even a door as far as Ink could tell. So this obviously wasn’t at home - if the lack of openings wasn’t enough evidence, the lack of pictures certainly was. Ink had made sure their entire house was covered with them, some being just pictures taken of the two boys, either when they were adults or during their childhood, and some simple paintings Ink had found in vintage stores he stumbled into throughout town. 

Beside him, something began to drip from far above. The drips were large, and they were rapidly turning into a full out pour. Reaching his small hand out, the black liquid splashed through his phalanges, staining them. He pulled his hand away as if the black ink had burned him.. Other leaks had started round him, the black liquid slowly filling the boxed room, the already reaching up to his ankles, filling and filling.

Higher.

And higher.

Ink gasped, arms flailing to keep his head about the still rising liquid. It felt heavy around him, pulling him down into the darkness. His soul was pounding in his ribcage, desperation clawing at his insides. 

Something wrapped around his leg - a gloved hand - and yanked him down. Ink yelped, suddenly surrounded in the dark - it filled his eye sockets, moving into the spaces between his bones, devouring him. 

Ink jolted awake, eyes wide as he drank in the cold night air. He was in his and Error’s bedroom, the hint of the sunrise kissing the horizon through the window. The ebony skeleton beside him was sitting up, having been awakened from Ink’s panic, his steady hand placed on his lover's back. Error was shushing him softly, speaking in soft tones as he reassured his fiance that he was ok.

Eventually, Ink’s breathing calmed down, and he curled up to Error’s chest, pressing the side of his skull to Error’s chest, listening to his soul beat. Error had always been much taller and bigger than Ink, and it had always been a comfort to the small monster.

Error was basically just one big teddy bear. 

“Another nightmare?” The ebony monster’s already deep voice was gruff from sleep, the vibrations from his ribs sending a shiver down Ink’s spine. He nodded. 

Ever since Ink was a child, he’d been plagued with frequent nightmares, the doctors had alway told him it was a side effect of the medicine he had to take for his soul - he was born with a rare condition where his soul didn’t have the ability to create the type of magic needed for monsters to express and experience emotions. After going to many different doctors and specialists, and having countless tests done on his soul, they were finally able make a medicine that could actually help the boy. For the most part, he’d gotten used to the night terrors, rarely did they bother him all that much. He’d wake up, usually without jumping into a sitting position and panting like he just had, and he’d just silently snuggle up to Error’s chest. Though, they had been much worse for the past few weeks, causing him to wake up in a cold sweat. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Ink shook his skull, wrapping his arms around his fiance's neck. He took a deep breath, his nerves still on edge from the most recent dream. He wasn’t even sure why it had scared him so bad, he’d surely had worse dreams, but there was a deep feeling of dread that came with the memory of it. Ink stubbornly pushed the thoughts away, deciding to focus on Error’s steady hand on his back instead, rubbing gently, to his calm breathing, and to the way he smelled softly of their soap. He never pressured Ink to talk about these things, something he was very grateful for. Though this time, he knew he should say something - the way the feeling of dread still clung to his soul must be a sign that he can’t just keep trying to forget the dreams.

And who knows, maybe talking about it will help make them stop. “Maybe later.” He corrected himself, scooting off of Error’s lap, much to the other skeleton’s annoyance. “I’m going to have a shower first, clear my head.” He pressed a kiss to Error’s cheek, and pulled the heavy bed sheets off himself. 

“Want me to join?” There was a suggestive tone to the monster's voice as he wiggled his eyebrows, causing Ink to snort. He slid off the bed - he was only wearing one of Error’s shirts and a short pair of gray shorts, while Error was only wearing loosely fitting gray sweatpants, leaving his yellow and red ribcage bare.

“Try to keep it in your pants sweetie.” Ink said with a giggle, causing his fiance to chuckle playfully. He pulled off his shirt, glancing at the alarm clock. 6 am. At least it wasn’t too early. 

It was Saturday, so the two could spend the whole day together - Ink couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a proper date, though he had a feeling it was when Error proposed about 8 months ago. With all the wedding prep mixed in with them just wanting to spend time cuddling at home, they hadn’t paid much thought to going out. Ink supposed that’s what happens when you’ve been with someone as long as they’d been together - a little over 10 years now, and that’s not counting how long they were friends before that. It would be nice to go out for once though, perhaps he’d be able to convince Error to go out to a nice restaurant for supper that night. They could go to that nice sushi place downtown. 

Error kissed the top of his skull, surprising the shorter monster - he hadn’t noticed him stand up. “I’m gonna go start breakfast, ok?” Ink nodded, watching him leave their room and down the hall, where he would go down the stairs and into their tidy kitchen.

Smiling softly to himself, Ink stepped into the bathroom connected to their bedroom, pulling off the rest of his clothes and turning on the water, waiting patiently for it to heat up. 

*****

Ink spent more time in the shower than he had meant to - he had easily gotten lost in his thoughts under the heat of the water, though he wasn’t anymore relaxed than he had been before. It was like a sinister cloud of dread was tied to his wrist, looming over him. If he was being honest with himself, it felt like his body, his soul, was expecting something bad to happen. 

He slipped on one of his turtleneck sweaters, the baby blue one that was just a little too big for him, and a pair of simple black leggings. Pushing aside his paranoid thoughts, he hummed softly as he looked into the bathroom mirror. If he and Error did go out, like Ink wanted, he’d definitely need to change into something a bit more formal, but for the time being this would work. 

As he made his way to the kitchen, the smell of pancakes filled the air, sending a spark of excitement to his soul. Growing up, neither he or Error could cook very well, but in recent years Error had improved a great deal. And sure, he knew that technically neither of them needed the food - the only time a monster would actually need to eat is if they were hurt, and that would only work if they were eating magic infused food, which was rare these days (too much work to try and make) - but since they could still taste the food, they still pertook in regular meals. 

Their kitchen was relatively tidy, aside from the few dishes in the sink waiting to be washed. Old style wallpaper with a sunflower patterned covered the walls, and the floor was tiled yellow and white. Left of the stove was an open window, sun rays from the rising sun trickled in through the open blinds, casting a warm glow over the room. Error stood in front of the stove, in one hand he felt a spatula, and the other was on his hip - he still hadn’t put on a shirt, but he did have an apron on now. On the stove in front of him were two frying pans, one with bacon sizzling, and the other held a pancake waiting to be flipped. 

“No eggs?” Ink teased, coming up beside him, leaning over slightly to gaze at the cooking food. Error’s nose scrunched up in response. 

“No way, you know I think they’re gross.”

With a laugh, Ink opened one of the wooden cabinets above the counter, pulling out a small bottle filled with glistening tablets. He unscrewed the top, quickly popping one into his mouth, feeling it tingle and dissolve. He watched Error flip the pancake, revealing one golden side. “We need groceries by the way. I figured I’d go out after breakfast.”

Ink groaned, sinking into one of the chairs next to the dining table. “Grocery shopping is so boring though.” With a chuckle, the ebony skeleton scooped the crispy bacon onto a clean plate, turning off the burner before setting the pan in the sink to soak.

“I know, that’s why I’ll just go by myself, we only need a few things anyways.” Ink fidgeted in his seat, watching Error’s back as his paranoid thoughts flooded back. What if something happened while Error was out on his own? He didn’t know what he’d do if he were to lose Error now. He didn’t want to know! He could feel his breath quicking, panic building up in his soul. When they were still in highschool, Ink almost lost Error because he hadn’t noticed something was wrong, he couldn’t let that happen again, he-

“Ink. Ink, sweetie, calm down, what’s wrong!?” Two large hands clasped around Ink’s smaller ones, Ink’s eyelights snapped up to Error’s. The skeleton was kneeling in front of him, brows drawn in worry. Ink sniffled, feeling a fat tear roll down his cheek as he slipped off his chair, curling up to his chest. “... Your nightmare was that bad, huh?” 

Ink shook his skull, holding Error tighter. “It really wasn’t… it’s just… I feel like something bad is going to happen.” Error hummed, pressing a long kiss to his forehead. 

“Nothing bad is going to happen to me or you, hun. Our wedding is in two months, we’ve already been through all the bad shit, remember?” Ink rubbed at his eyes, nodding slowly. He knew Error was right - both of them went through their own problems in highschool, but now they were together, and above all they were going to be officially married soon. Logically, there was no need for the small white skeleton to be worried. 

But deep down, he couldn’t shake that feeling of paranoia. 

*****

After a bit more comfort, and plenty of kisses, Error left to go pick up the food the two boys needed, leaving Ink alone in the silence. He switched on the TV as he slumped into the worn blue sofa. True, he was sure Error would have let him come with if he had asked, but he really did dislike shopping for groceries, plus he was stubborn and was not willing to give into his fears.

Error would be fine, he even promised to be extra careful.

A newscast was being shown on the TV, another royal press conference, it seems like that’s all that’s ever on nowadays. Personally, Ink didn’t understand why. Yes, the prince was 23 now, and the poor boy was getting asked day and night about when he planned on marrying, or asking about his relationship status in general. And boy, were the television stations milking the situation to death; rumours were even going around that Prince Dream was dating his own personal guard, a skeleton named Cross, after a journalist somehow captured a blurry picture of the two holding hands on the royal grounds. After all, a gay prince is the perfect thing to expose for ratings.

Ink sighed at the screen, the young prince looked overwhelmed as the press yelled questions to him, while the guard, Cross, was clearly trying to mask his annoyance. He couldn’t help but feel pity for the two boys - even if they were together, it was obvious neither of them wanted it public yet, and therefore was none of the press’ business. Even if it was public, it didn’t give anyone the right to try and pry. Annoyance washed over Ink as he switched off the TV. 

He groaned, rolling onto his back. Maybe he could watch a movie? Or draw, it’d been a while since he’d really sat down with a pencil and a pad of paper. With a happy hum, he sat up, leaning to the side where he usually kept his sketchbook and-

Two loud, even knocks came from the door, causing Ink to jump slightly, anxiety suddenly clutching his soul. Did Error forget his keys? No, Ink remembered handing them to him before he left, and he clearly heard the car start up and drive away. Taking a deep breath he stood up, he knew his nerves were playing a trick on him, it was probably just a little kid selling cookies or something of the sort. 

His guess wasn’t even close.

Two royal guards stood with straight backs and clean uniforms outside the door, both easily as tall or maybe even a bit taller than Error. The one closest to the door was a fish like monster - she had long red hair pulled into a ponytail, and red fins protruded from the sides of her head, not to mention her skin was covered in shimmering blue scales. Her left eye was blacked out, a blue pupil the only thing visible - Ink wondered if that was caused from a fight - and the other had a yellow sclera and red pupil. 

The second guard who stood just slightly behind the first, was another skeleton, like Ink. However, unlike Ink, this skeleton didn’t have eyelights, just two eye sockets that seemed to move depending on where he looked. Both of them wore the royal uniform with the royal crest pinned to the left side of their chest - the only difference was that the second guard had a ripped red scarf tied to his right arm. 

“Hello there, is there a Mr. Ink Agate present?” The woman spoke first, her tone was brisk, making Ink wonder if she actually didn’t want to be here, talking to him.

It wasn’t like he wanted to talk to her either. Nothing personal, but he wasn’t a big fan of the royal guard, the air around them always seemed to be alive from the magic rolling off them. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Perfect” She smiled down at him, revealing a row of shark like teeth. "My name is Undyne, and this is my partner, Papyrus.” She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder to the other guard, who smiled and gave him a small wave. “Now I’m sure you’re wondering what we’re doing here on this beautiful summer day.”

“I am, actually.” Ink forced a smile, doing his best to be polite despite the fear nipping at his soul. “Would you like to come in? I could make some tea?”

Undyne shook her head. “No need, sir. His majesty has requested to see you personally, immediately. We are here to escort you to the palace.”

If it were possible, Ink was sure his face would have paled. “I-I’m afraid there must be some sort of mistake, why would the King want to see little ol’ me?” He was cursing himself for note going with Error when he left earlier, then he could have avoided this whole mess. Or at least he wouldn’t have had to deal with it alone. 

“That is information his majesty withheld from the two of us. We do know our orders, however. Now I must ask that you make your way to the cart behind us.” Ink leaned, eyes catching on the vehicle the female guard was talking about; it was styled to look like an old horse drawn buggy, like most castle vehicles, but Ink knew under all that faux wood was a complicated set of machinery and magic.

Ink wrung his hands together, fighting the urge to throw up. This was all too much. “Alright.. But I need to write a note for my fiance so that he doesn’t worry…” He left the door open, quickly grabbing his forgotten notebook and yanking a page out. 

“Ah, congratulations on the engagement.”

Ink thanked her, quickly writing a small message on the paper, placing it on the kitchen table where he was sure Error would see it. Truthfully, he hoped he’d be home before the ebony skeleton, but he’d rather be safe than sorry. With that done, he pulled on his jacket, locked the door behind them and followed the two larger monsters to the carriage. 

Ink sat adjacent to the two guards, and he noted that both of them seemed rather… relaxed. He’d always pictured guards to be uptight. “How long have you and your fiance been together?” It was the skeleton who spoke up this time - Undyne had said his name was Papyrus, right?.

Ink smiled, his thoughts shifting to his dear Error. “We’ve been dating for 10 years now.” His gaze dropped to the small ring on his left hand. “Our wedding is in two months, things have been pretty crazy with all the planning, though.”

Papyrus laughed. “I’m sure they are. My adopted mother and father didn’t marry until they adopted my brother and I, and even though I was pretty young at the time I remember them being incredibly busy and a bit panicked about the whole festivity.” There was something in his smile that looked almost wistful, a spark of regret. The smaller monster wanted to ask what happened, but quickly scolded himself for almost letting his curiosity get the better of him. It wasn’t any of his business. Still, he wanted to make some conversation, and Undyne seemed preoccupied with something on a small tablet in her lap. 

“You said you had a brother? Both me and Error, my partner, are only-children, but I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling.”

This time, sadness flashed over the taller skeleton’s face, his smile dropping for only a moment, before it was back in full force. It didn’t look as genuine this time. “Yes, my older brother. We are not… as close, as we once were, I’m afraid to say. I also have two other siblings - mom and dad adopted us all, only my brother and I are actually related.”

“You have a pretty big family then, huh?”

Papyrus nodded. “Frisk is the youngest, they’re only ten, then there’s chara, who’s sixteen. I’m the second oldest, but Undyne has pointed out on many occasions that I’m still young at 21.” He nudged the fish monster, earning a snort. “And my brother is the eldest. He’s 28 now.”

Ink bit his lip, a bit jealous. Papyrus was 5 years younger than him and yet Ink looked like a child next to him! It was the same thing with Error (though he was a year older). He knew he was stumbling with his words, the guard made talking look so easy, but Ink always floundered when talking to new people - sure, he could fake it and make small talk for a bit, but his act quickly fell apart after a topic had been exhausted. 

“We will arrive at the castle in a few minutes.” Luckily, Undybe cut in before Ink could dwell too much more on what he should say, clipping the small screen to the belt of her uniform. Sadly, her statement only made anxiety well up in his stomach. He could barely talk normally with these two guards, how was he supposed to make conversation with the king of all people?! Why was he even needed here in the first place? “I’m sure this is all very nerve racking for you.” Was it that obvious? “But I can assure you there is no need to worry. The king is a very kind and logical monster.”

Ink truly hoped Undyne was right. 

*****

Walking through the castle was like walking through a fairy tale.

The whole thing was surrounded by a 10 foot wall, and the gate was styled to look like a drawbridge that would have used years and years ago. Not only was the entire castle made to look like something out of a fairy tale, but it was huge too. Ink had seen pictures and videos of the palace countless times, but the size and colours - the golds, blues, and purples -weren’t nearly as clear through the screen as they were like this. The inside was just as grand: delicately classical looking, with a touch of technology here and there. Papyrus and Undyne lead him to the ballroom, Ink wondered how they didn’t get lost within the castle’s twists and bends: within 10 minutes of entering the castle Ink found himself lost and, if you asked, he would not be able to find his way back to the front gate.

The castle was also buzzing with activity, much like a bee hive. Servants passed by the trio, each with their own tasks, their own duties. There was a human woman who passed them, giving a short greeting to the guards, who warmly responded. She was wearing a short black dress and tights, a white apron tied around her waist, a tray of food set in her small, delicate hands. The thing that stood out more about the girl was not her lively gray eyes, or the fact that she was just barely taller than Ink; it was that she had long, bright pink hair that fell in waves around her hips. Ink barely recognized her as the prince’s caretaker (why a 23 year old would still need a nanny eluded him, but perhaps her duties had changed as the prince grew up.). 

Finally, they reached the throne room. It was longer than it was wide with a domed roof, the sides were lined with arches and stained glass windows, which casted coloured rays of light onto the reflected tiles. Above them were large, gold chandeliers, all unlit. A red carpet led to the large throne at the far side of the room. Ironically, the King himself wasn’t even sitting in the large chair. He stood next to it, talking with the prince, whose personal guard was stationed calmly beside him.Next to the King was a small, yellow lizard monster. Ink quickly recognized her as Dr. Alphys, the royal scientist. Much to Ink’s surprisement, she looked even shorter than himself. Cross noticed them first, eyes flickering first to the guards, then to Ink. The King and Prince noticed them next, Papyrus and Undyne sank to one knee, bowing their heads; in a wave of panic, Ink quickly did the same. 

There was a laugh from the other side of the room. “Now now, no need for that Mr. Agate. Please, stand up.” Ink did as he was told,nearly toppling over onto Papyrus. King Gaster was already making his way to him, Alphys following not far behind. The prince was watching the small white skeleton curiously, while Cross seemed more suspicious. As he extended a gloved hand to him, Ink gingerly shook it, his bones rattling softly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, I have much I wish to discuss with you.” He turned his skull to the side. “My son, we will continue our conversation later on, you are dismissed.” 

With a small nod and something said to Cross - Ink was too far to make out what they said - the skeletons took their leave, the Prince giving Ink a warm smile as they passed. The King placed a hand against Ink’s back, making him go stiff. Something wasn’t right about this. He wasn’t supposed to be here. “Let us take a walk, Mr. Agate.”

“Ink is fine, your majesty.” They left the room, and Ink let the King begin to guide them through the halls. Alyphs stayed at his side, making him wonder if she served another role, other than scientist, and Undyne followed silently behind. Papyrus must have also been dismissed for now, Ink guessed, though he missed the skeleton’s warm personality.

“Ink it is then. Forgive me if I come off as brash, but I assume you had other engagements planned for today, so I shall get right to the point.” At least that would mean Ink could leave soon, which he definitely liked the idea of. That feeling of dread was hanging over him again, stronger now than before. “I am very interested in your soul, Ink.” 

Relexifly, Ink’s hands shot up to his chest, as if that would somehow protect the beating soul hidden in his rib cage. “W-what?”

“As king, I make it my duty to know anything that goes on in my kingdom that could be of value to me. I was made aware of your condition a few months ago, and I strongly believe it could aid us in our soul research here in the castle. All that I ask is that you let us conduct some tests on your soul.  
Of course, there would be a large sum of money as an award for you, if you were to comply.”

All throughout Ink’s childhood, he’d had doctors hovering over him, conducting their experiments, their test. After his 18th birthday, he decided he was done being their guinea pig, and would only go in for the normal soul check once a year, and he’d only go to one doctor: Dr. Thaz. If the King knew about his soul, Thaz is the only person who would be able to give relatively recent data on him. Ink couldn’t help but feel a bit betrayed by the old monster. “I’m terribly sorry, your majesty, but I’m afraid I have to decline the offer. I’ve been tested on all my life and frankly, I’m tired of it, I simply want a normal life with my fiance. I do hope you can understand.” He turned his skull upwards, but his smile quickly fell, fear crashing over him. 

The king’s pleasant smile was gone, replaced with a deep scowl. The air around him darkened, and became heavier, vibrating with magic. “Undyne.” His voice even seemed deeper, anger seeming to seep out of him like blood flowing out of a cut.

With a quick, smooth motion, Undyne was behind Ink, her large arms grabbing him from behind and hoisting him off the ground, one hand pressed to his mouth. He thrashed against her, to no avail. Where were all the servants he had seen before when he needed help?

The sudden realization that this was happening crashed over him like an avalanche - what were they going to do to him?! Tears welled up in his eye sockets as he continued to struggle. All he wanted was Error, his Error. He wanted to go home, he never should have come here. And Error - oh god, if something happened here, if Ink really died here, what would happen to Error? Would they tell him the truth of what happened or would they fabricate some outlandish story?

Undnye had knelt down, easily holding Ink’s trembling arm out as Ayphys pressed a syringe into his bones. His skull suddenly felt full of cotton, eyelids heavy. He was going to pass out.

“I’m terribly sorry it had to happen this way, Ink. But I need you to understand, this is what’s best for the kingdom.” The world around Ink pittered into inky blackness, his soul thrashing even more than his body had been a mere minutes ago. 

Perhaps he had been wrong to assume that the feeling of paranioa was a warning that Error was going to be harmed today. 

*****

“Hey hun, I’m back!” Error called into the house, his hands full of bags as he pushed the door closed with his hip. It had taken him about an hour to get everything, longer than he had planned. The store had been busy today, everyone and their mother decided to go out today as well.

His eyebrows drew together when Ink didn’t respond. The house was too quiet, he had learned a long time ago that Ink didn’t like bare, white spaces or the quiet very much. Hence all the pictures in their home. Maybe he was upstairs having a nap, both of them were up pretty early because of his nightmare. 

He set the plastic bags onto the wooden kitchen table, eyes catching on a small folded up note, his name written on the front in Ink’s large handwriting. He picked it up, flipping it over and reading it, a heavy weight settling in his soul.

Something about this wasn’t right, why would Ink be summoned to the castle by the king of all people? Unless… could it have anything to do with his soul? That had to be it, that’s the only thing it could be. But why? He let out a huff, quickly throwing anything cold into the fridge or freezer, then ran back out to the car. Even if he was overreacting, Ink’s words came swirling around his head - “I feel like something bad is going to happen.” - making his soul ache and pound in his ribcage. What if this was the bad thing? He cursed himself, he should have gotten Ink to come with him; yeah, he would have most likely complained, but at least he’d actually know where he was!

Two guards were posted outside the gate, Error guessed it had been stupid of him to think getting in would be easy, there was one skeleton, same height as Error by the looks of it, and the other was a rabbit monster, a few feet shorter than the skeletons. 

“I need to see the king.” No point in beating around the bush, he guessed. 

The first guard, the skeleton, raised an eyebrow. “No one is allowed to see his majesty without an appointment.” Error bit back his anger. He didn’t care if he needed an “appointment,” he just wanted his fiance back at home. “Might I get your name, sir?”

“Error Sona.” He still felt weird saying his last name, the only thing that still connected him to his past, to his father. He and Ink had already decided he'd be taking Ink’s last name, and he had to mentally stop himself from saying ‘Agate.’ “My fiance, Ink Agate, was brought here earlier today to see the king. I’m here to pick him up.” 

Recognition passed over Papyrus’s features, and he nodded slowly. “I see. I was one of the guards sent to escort Mr. Agate here.” He glanced around, biting his lower lip. “Please follow me, I’ll take you to his majesty.”

The second guard reached out, placing a hand on his partner's arm. “Papyrus, you can’t do that, it’s against protocol!” 

The skeleton, Papyrus, shook him off. “It’ll be fine, the king wanted to see his fiance, surely there’s nothing he’d say to Mr. Agate that Mr. Sona here can’t know.” Sighing, the bunny monster pulled his hand away 

“Just be quick, and don’t blame me if the Captain gets mad at you.”

If Error hadn’t been so stressed, and down right mad, he most likely would have enjoyed walking around the castle, but his mind was clouded. “Why was Ink brought here? Neither of us have anything to do with the crown.”

“I’m afraid I do not know that, sir. He only told us to bring him here. Though, I will agree that it’s odd he hasn’t gotten home yet. It’s been about an hour.” Error’s soul dropped. An hour. He gritted his teeth, pushing down his worries. Ink was fine, he had to be fine.

“In here.” Papyrus gestured to a large, steel door, swiping the tablet that had previously been clipped to his belt under the scanner. The door opened with a click, the room behind was a white washed lab, the king standing with his back to the door, a vial in one hand, and the royal scientist at his side, writing something down. “Your majesty.” The guard brought a fist to his chest, bowing his head.

The king turned, eyes landing on Error, a look of annoyance settling on his skull. Error wanted to scoff, like the king had any right to be upset. He was the one who had taken his Ink. If he had been anyone else, the ebony skeleton would have landed a punch to his face in a heartbeat. He really didn’t want to end up in jail though, so he squashed the urge down.

“Papyrus, who is this?” He sounded mad, making Error bite down a smirk. 

“Ink Agate’s fiance, your majesty. He is here to pick him up.” 

The larger monster’s eyelights scanned his unexpected visitor, then he waved a hand to Papyrus. “You are excused, return to your post.” 

Now that it was just three of them alone in the room, the King clasped his hands in front of him. “I understand that you are here for your partner.” Error nodded, his tone seemed light, almost like he found this funny. “I’m afraid that cannot happen. You see, Agate’s soul is very unique. I tried offering him a deal where he would be allowed to go home after any tests I conducted but he declined. We need that information, it is incredibly valuable.”

Rage bubbled in Error, throwing his calm, polite act out the window. “You kidnapped him?!”

“Kidnap is such a strong, ugly word. I am simply… keeping him as my guest until I have the information I need.”

“The press will flip when they hear about this. It’s illegal! You can’t do anything to his soul without consent!” He stepped forward, his magic responding to his anger. Something pressed against his wrists, pulling him back. Chains. The king was holding him back, a cruel smile pressed into his lips. 

“You truly believe they would believe your word over mine? I can do whatever I want as long as no one knows. And Mr. Sona, you are not someone who can hurt me.” The ebony monster pulled against the chains. “The guard captain is already on her way to escort you out of my castle, without any charges, of course. However, mark my words, if you come back or try to interfere again, there will be consequences.”

*****

Error paced back and forth through the living room. He wanted to scream, yell at the top of his lungs about how all of this was bullshit. How could this happen?! Things were supposed to be good now, and here he was, alone at home while the love of his life was locked up somewhere in a huge castle. It seemed surreal, like something out of one of those fantasy movies Ink loved so much.

What did the main characters always do in those? They fought back, of course. Error couldn’t do that, he was strong, sure, but definitely not strong enough to fight the king and all of his guards. Plus, he’d be seen as a traitor to the crown if he even tried. 

His mind drifted - when the characters in movies weren’t strong enough, they made a team. One big team with one goal, to defeat the villain. Error remembered reading about the protests against the crown in the edges of the city. It was by far the worst part of town, everything was rundown and people were living on the streets everywhere you look. Error used to assume it was that way because that just happened to be where those monsters all went, but after seeing how the king really was; he was more inclined to believe it was like that because the king didn’t care enough to help his people. 

That could mean more people felt like he did: he hated the king. It could mean he could make a team of sorts, too. He knew it was crazy, and farfetched, but it was all he could do now.

He was ready to start a goddamn revolution if he had to.

And it was starting to look like he had to. 

*****

He was underwater.

Or at least, that’s what it felt like, with his skull seemingly full of cotton, his limbs heavy and unmovable, his vision still blurred from whatever drug had been injected into his bones. He was laying on something cold, like metal. An operating table? There was a light glaring down at him, making it even harder to examine his surroundings. 

“He’s awake.” A female voice on his left said. He couldn’t recognize it, nor could he see who it came from after craning his head to the side. 

“I see that. Prepare another dosage please, not enough to make him completely unconscious this time.” That voice was familiar. It was deep and gruff, too deep to be Error’s though, he knew that for sure. 

The King. Memories flooded him, and he realized he must be in W.D.’s personal lab. He jolted, but was held down by restraints. “Now now, Ink. Please remain calm, my assistant and I have no intentions of killing you.” His assistant placed a hand on his left arm, her hand small and scaly, and pressed another drug into him. 

The next few hours, or what he guessed were hours, were blurry. Ink remembered them taking out his soul. They took notes, examining it and prodding at it until it responded by cowering away. It felt wrong, he didn’t want this. He wanted Error. He tried to focus on that, tried to picture the other monster, but the drugs made it difficult to think of anything other than the present. Slowly, the tests got worse. They used needles to puncture his trembling soul, filling it with god knows what. At some point, he couldn’t remember exactly when, but he saw the king's gloved hands grind up his pills, the same ones he had taken this morning, into a thick liquid. 

They injected it into his soul, like everything else. This time he felt it, even through his numb, drug induced haze. He vaguely remembered screaming and thrashing, he was sure his soul was burning, crumbling apart right there in this strange, chemical smelling room. 

Then, he died. 

Well, no, he didn’t, but he thought he did.

He was proven wrong when his eyes fluttered open, his bones aching. He felt wrong. Everything was wrong. 

He was in a different room now. It was as big as his and Error’s living room, and he was laying on a soft bed with purple sheets. There was a round table in the middle of the room, a skeleton with two different coloured eyes, one blue and the other purple, sitting on one of the cushions next to it. One of the walls was lined with bookshelves.

“You’re awake! Thank goodness, I was really worried when father brought you in here unconscious.” There was something familiar about the boy. “Um, are you alright?”

“I dunno.” Ink’s words were slurred as he sat up, pressing a hand to his skull. What time was it? Sunlight was shining outside, so it wasn’t night. How long had he been asleep? “Where am I?”

“The prince’s ‘room,’ of sorts.” A different voice said from somewhere close to the metal door that seemed to be bolted in place. It was the servant he had seen before, the one with pink hair. “My name is Bethenny, deary. I know this is very confusing, but this is Prince Nightmare.”

Ink’s eyes snapped back to the monster. The prince? “I thought the prince was killed years ago?”

Bethenny shook her head. “That is what his majesty told everyone.” She slowly explained the truth to Ink, about the prince’s condition, about the room room, and why it was hidden from everyone. “I… I know I should have done something to stop this, perhaps then this room wouldn’t have been made, and you wouldn’t have been brought here too. Foolishly, I was too scared to.”

Ink swallowed hard. He remembered hearing about the second prince's execution. He could also remember thinking it was the right thing to do. Now, he couldn’t help but feel ashamed. “I’m sorry.” Was all he could say to the younger boy, who only smiled sadly. 

“I don’t think you’ve told us your name yet?” The prince - was Ink supposed to just call him Nightmare? - was rubbing his hand over one of his shackles. 

“Ink.” His head felt clearer now, though he could still feel the drug working its way out of his system. He placed a hand to his chest. His soul felt heavy, though other than that he couldn’t feel any differences. “I need to leave here. M-my fiance, he’s going to be worried sick.” He was greeted with looks of pity.

“Ink, I’m sorry but… if father brought you here… he’s not going to let you out.” The older monster flinched.

No.

No.

He had to leave, he was supposed to be at home, with Error. This wasn’t fair! He want to scream, to bang against the door, to make them let him go, just let me go, let me go let me-

The rage left him. Everything left him. He was numb. Emotionless. He’d only felt this once, when he was little and he had forgotten to take his medicine before going to school. He moved off the bed, walking to the window and sitting in the corner a few feet from it. Is this what Gaster had done? Made his feelings come and go? He heard Nightmare ask with panic what had happened, but he ignored him.

He didn’t care.

His feelings didn’t come back until the sun had gone down; after Bethenny had helped Nightmare light the candles littered throughout the room before she then left for the night. His emotions hit him like a freight train. He shook from the force of it as he sobbed into his knees. He was filled with so much anger, regret, fear and sadness; they swirled around his now, even more, broken soul. Nightmare was kneeling next to him, trying to calm him down but Ink pushed him away. He didn’t want to be here with this prince, with this monster who’d been lied about and forgotten by the rest of the kingdom. All Ink wanted was Error, for everything to go back to normal. 

Eventually, Nightmare gave up trying to comfort the distressed monster. He set two folded blankets next to him before settling into his own bed, turning to the wall. Ink slowly took one blanket, laying it out on the ground, the pillow on top. He laid down, pulling the blanket to his chin. 

He hated it. He had never felt like this before, felt this hopeless.

All he could do was question why this happened to him. Didn’t Error say that things were supposed to be good now? They were supposed to be getting married! And now he was trapped, with no way out, with a messed up soul that sometimes let him feel, but would strip him off those precious emotions at random. 

If he was being honest, he half wished the king had taken his feelings fully away if his plan had been to make him prisoner in the first place. At least then he wouldn’t feel so broken and helpless.

Eventually, he fell into a restless slumber, clinging to the blankets, his cheeks stained from his tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly almost cried while writing this chapter, I feel so bad for Ink qwq
> 
> ~Thank you all for reading!~


	3. ~Chapter 3~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/B5l28mWAbPj/?igshid=8pwo38p4b4fh) or [Tumblr](https://fandomartist1273.tumblr.com/post/189150992336/nisha-i-really-wanted-to-make-a-fanchild-soooo)

“Father, can Cross join me in the picture this time?” 

Cross felt his cheeks heat up as he snapped out of his thoughts. Yearly, around this time of the year, Dream and the King had portraits taken of themself, and they were hung on one of the castle halls. The royal family was always having pictures taken of them, whether it be for an article or another picture in the castle, or for whatever reason the King thought of. Truthfully, Cross didn’t understand the need, but he wasn’t one to complain. 

He stood behind this week’s photographer, a small chameleon type monster, whose name was Leaf or something of the sort. The small monster - he had to be about 5 feet or so - looked nervous as he set up his camera. Beside Cross was the captain of the royal guards, Undnye. Her and Cross were pretty close, all things considered, since they had trained together. The few times the skeleton actually had free time, and he wasn’t spending it for alone time with Dream, he’d go find her somewhere in the guards’ bunks. Sometimes she’d be with one of the newbies - Cross was pretty sure his name was Papyrus, and he was definitely one of the youngest guards. Undyne had taken a quick liking to the boy, so Cross always did his best to be friendly to the other monster. 

The fish monster nudged him with her elbow, wiggling her eyebrows. Cross sighed, trying to keep a straight face despite the purple on his cheeks.

“This is a portrait Dream. You should be the only one in the picture.” The King’s voice was somber, like always, as he adjusted the yellow sash draped across Dream’s shoulder and chest. 

“But Cross is my-” A finger twitch, a warning. Both Cross and the Prince knew Gaster wasn’t fond of their relationship; Dream always blamed it on the fact that his father was old fashioned, but deep down the guard had a feeling that the king just didn’t really like him in general. Only the three of them knew about the relationship; plus Undyne and Papyrus (Cross accidently slipped up and told them on the fish monster's birthday after he had had a bit too much to drink) and the King very much wanted to keep it that way. Hence why he was still upset over the press catching them in the garden. Which, honestly, was bullshit in Cross’s opinion. Dream bit his lip. “He’s my personal guard, I think it’s only fair that I get one picture with him, wouldn’t you agree?” 

The older monster sighed. “Fine. One picture.” Dream’s smile brightened, his cheeks dusted with a light yellow. He waved Cross over, his excited energy seeming to float around him like a cloud.

“Dream. this isn’t necessary-” The taller skeleton mumbled once he was close enough, standing next to him. The prince shook his head slightly, hand brushing against his arm. 

“Shush, I think it’d be best to have at least one picture of the two future kings before marriage.” His voice was soft, quiet enough that only Cross could hear, making his soul flutter. Marriage always seemed so complicated for the two for more than one reason; for one, everyone expected the future king to marry a girl, a princess at that, not a commoner. Even if Cross was close to the royals that didn’t change that he was just another monster. Plus Dream’s father, who wouldn’t support the marriage as much as he would if Dream married who he was ‘supposed’ to (Cross had a feeling Gatser already had a list of available princesses from neighbouring kingdoms) 

Truth be told, the thought of being king scared Cross.

Dream was smiling into the camera, he was close enough that it would have been easy to wrap an arm around him, or place a hand on his shoulder, like Cross had seen other royal’s do in their pictures with their partners. Instead, he kept his back straight, mouth drawn in a line - there had been only one time where some of the guards had to take a picture like this, and all of them had been told to remain professional - no smiles, no joking around. So is the life of a guard, Cross had reasoned then, all work and no play. His eyelights ideally wandered to the skeleton beside him. 

One of the things he loved about Dream is just how easily he radiated warmth, just like he was doing now. He always seemed so happy to be around Cross, the king, even those dumb reporters. He was the perfect fit to be king; kind and caring, but also hard working and diligent. He felt his lips tug upwards in a small smile. Sure, being king and in charge of so many lives is terrifying, but that fear would be nothing compared to the joy of spending the rest of his life with his golden flower.

The camera clicked and flashed, startling Cross enough that his magic flared momentarily. Dream gave him a puzzled look, it wasn’t like him to get distracted, Cross shrugged, easily settling his magic before anyone else noticed. “Are we done now father?”

“For now, yes. You are dismissed.” His eyes were glued to a small netscreen in his hand as he waved the photographer away. He handed the screen to Alphys - the small lizard always seemed to be with him, yet Cross knew very little about her. He knew her and Undyne had a little thing together, and he suspected that the scientist acted as a sort of advisor for the king. Other than that she seemed pretty shy. The King’s eyelights settled on his adoptive son, hands folding in front of him. “I believe there was something you wished to discuss, correct?” 

Dream nodded, quickly slipping into his more diplomatic self. “I wanted to visit the city center on my own - with just Cross. I’ve seen the reports that there’s been more bar riots in the outskirts of the city and I thought if the people saw me out and about, like the rest of them, it would settle some of them down.” 

Cross had also heard about the so-called riots; they started a little over a week ago, a few days after that small skeleton showed up to the castle. What had his name been? Something Agate? The monster had been tiny next to the two guards, and as Cross and Dream had passed him, it was easy to sense that he wasn’t all that strong, either. Monsters over a certain power level had a constant aura of power around them - the king and all the guards, Cross included, to name a few. That being said, only monsters who were actually trained to look for these “aura” could feel it. The royal guards were all taught it so that they would never be taken by surprise by an attacker’s power level. 

“You’d be putting yourself at risk, Dream.”

“I’d have Cross with me, I’d be fine.” He couldn’t help but feel a small spark of pride over how much faith the prince had in him.

The king clucked his tongue, glancing to the mentioned guard. After a moment of thought, he sighed and turned away from them. “Alright. I want you back at the castle within two hours.” 

*****

There were dark clouds forming in the distance, and there was a chill breeze blowing over the city, making Cross glad he had insisted that Dream grab a jacket before they left the castle. He had also made sure that he actually had his sword strapped to his hip, though if they were attacked he was for more likely to use his magic than the actual weapon, but it was reassuring nonetheless.

The city center was really just an overhyped shopping area, stores, cafes, restaurants and parks surrounded the area. It was a maze of streets that took years of living in Blightview to really understand, and it made Dream almost giddy. It was rare for either him or the King to leave the castle like this, and Cross had to admit that it was cute how excited he was. 

Monsters all around them had stopped to gape at them as the prince gushed at the sights, the guard ignored them, happy that they were just watching and not causing a scene. “We should get cake, what do you think?” 

“You know there are bakers at the castle who would jump at the opportunity to make you a cake. Or anything, for that matter.” He smirked at the shorter skeleton who huffed, gently shoving his arm. 

“That’s not the point. If we went to one of the smaller bakeries, it could really boost their business.” 

“Ah, so that’s what this is about then?”

“No! I-” He bit his lip. He sometimes fumble over words in situations like this, Cross didn’t know if it was because he was annoyed or flustered. Maybe both. He suddenly lowered his voice, leaning closer to his boyfriend. “Truth be told I only wanted to do this because it’s something normal couples would do, and we never get to do that sort of thing.” 

Cross hummed, eyelights catching on a bar across the street.’Gold Gardens’. It wasn’t too late yet, and yet the place already seemed packed, and there was some kind of flyer on the door, too far away for Cross to be able to read it. “You know I’m fine with not being able to do stereotypical things hun.” He brushed his pinkie against Dreams, interwinning them for a moment. “I’m happy to just be with you.” 

Dream smiled softly up at him, blushing. “It’s a shame I can’t kiss your cheek, they’re a beautiful shade of purple.”

He snorted. “Speak for yourself lemon cheeks.” 

Someone screamed across the street, instinctually Cross steadied his body, magic crackling and swirling around his hands and he scanned for the source of the noise. Running towards them was a gaggle of teenage monsters - all girls, by the looks of it. Cross sighed, snuffing out his magic for the second time that day. He’d need to spend some time releasing some of the pent up energy that night, he knew it wasn’t healthy to continuously activate his magic like this without releasing it. Maybe Unydne would be up for some sparring? 

“Prince Dream!”

“Can we get a picture?”

“Oh my god, you’re soooo hot!”

Dream laughed softly, talking easily to the girls. He was good with people, Cross didn’t know how he never snapped at anyone; but then again, he’d never really seen Dream get mad or annoyed at anyone. The teenagers giggled, thanking the prince for the photo and gushing. Dream thanked them, trying to end the conversation politely, he glanced up to Cross for help. Before the guard could speak up - he could just make up a simple lie about why they needed to return to the castle - one of the girls finally noticed him, eyes widening. 

“Is it true? Are you two really dating?” Cross’s eye twitched as he bit down hard on his cheek. Why did everyone have to ask that? They weren’t public because they wanted to avoid these questions - among other reasons, namely the King - so why were people still trying to grasp at this? 

Dream’s eyes were pleading with him, he may be good with people but he was terrible at lying, hence why he always skirted along the questions the reporters ask, never really answering them but not ignoring them altogether “My apologies ma’am.” Cross’s voice was tight and short, straight to the point. “But his highness must be getting back to the castle now.”

Truth be told, they still had over an hour before they actually needed to go back, but Dream happily latched on to the white lie. 

*****

“So you ran into fangirls?” 

Cross groaned, rolling his eyes as his and Undyne’s magic collided, sending sparks flying. He was right about needing to spend pent up magic, by the time dinner had rolled around his head had been pounding from the bottled up energy. Luckily, Undyne was always happy to participate in some friendly competition. 

They were behind the castle, a section of the castle grounds used specifically for guards and training, or sparing like the skeleton and fish monster were doing now. Cross had formed a sword, one of the items he was most comfortable forming, the feeling of it solid in his hands despite looking a bit translucent, wisps of light purple and red energy curling towards and around the object and Cross’s body. Across from him, his opponent held a bright blue spear in her hands. Unlike the skeleton, Undyne’s magic crackled and sparked around her, like a lightning storm. Papyrus sat a few feet away, tossing a bone between his hands; he had insisted on coming, saying that it could be educational to watch them. Cross hadn’t had the energy to object. 

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call them.” Undyne swiped left, Cross shifted to raise his blade to block. More sparks. “They’re fucking annoying.”

The fish barked out a laugh, nearly catching her friend off guard as he ducked, leg shooting out to knock him off his feet. He jumped back, aiming his magic at her side. Summoning a second spear, she blocked his attack, using the momentum to momentarily break Cross’s concentration. The sword flickered in his hands. “You have fangirls too; have you seen what's on the internet?”

“I wish I hadn’t.” He’d never be able to fully forget the lewd fanart and fanfiction he had found of himself.

Undyne thrusted forward, aiming for his right side. Cross brought down his blade to deflect the spear. He stumbled back when the spear vanished, reappearing in the woman’s other hand and tapping his chest. “I win.” She grinned, her shark like teeth proudly displayed. “You’re off your game tonight, usually that trick doesn’t work on you.” 

The skeleton huffed, letting his magic fade. At least his head didn’t hurt anymore. “I just have a lot on my mind.” He dropped down onto the ground next to Papyrus, who handed him a water bottle.

“Need to vent?” Cross had to admit that the younger skeleton was very considerate and thoughtful of others. Though that did make him a bit worried about how he’d react in an actual battle.

He took a swig from the bottle before tossing it to Undyne. “Dream brought up marriage today.” 

The older monster whistled. “Damn, does that mean you’re going to be incharge soon? That’ll be a bummer if I need to take orders from a bonehead like you” 

Cross snorted. “Yeah, and my first order will be to change all of your guys’s outfits. I think bright pink tu-tus will be perfect.”

“I look great in pink.”

“So do salmon.”

“Fuck you!”

The two laughed, Cross leaning back to lay down. There weren’t as many lights back here, making the few stars peeking through the clouds visible. “To be honest, I don’t know how to feel about it.”

“Don’t you love him?” Papyrus’s voice was soft next to him. 

“Of course I do.” He took a deep breath, eye’s focusing on a cloud drifting slowly above them. What would it be like to be a cloud, simply floating wherever the wind took you? “I don’t know how to rule a kingdom; while Dream has been slowly taught what to do all his life. That’s why royals marrying other royals is the norm: both know what to do. Plus there’s social benefits and alliances and all that shit to consider.”

“Maybe.” Papyrus started after a moment of silence. “But Blightview has always been the city to set examples for others. If you two married for love and not social standings, if we had two kings and not a king and a queen, other kingdoms will follow in your footsteps. Love could become the norm.”

“That’s very hopeful Paps.” Undyne nudged his skull gently, the younger monster grinning.

The door to the castle was shoved open, grabbing the attention of all three guards. Dream stood panting in the doorway, tears staining his cheeks as his eyelights were glued to Cross. Even from a few feet away, he could tell that the shorter monster was shaking. Cross was on his feet immediately and at his side, pulling him to his chest as Dream let out a strangled sob.

Cross shushed him softly, hand rubbing slow circles on his back as the prince clung to the front of his uniform. Undyne gave him a short nod when he caught her eye, a silent reassurance that he could, and should, go with Dream. 

They got plenty of curious looks as Cross led Dream to his bedroom, his skull still pressed against the taller monster's chest. By the time Cross had shut the door and lifted the Prince onto his bed, he had stopped crying, sniffling as he nuzzled closer to Cross. “What happened?” He made sure to keep his voice low and gentle, taking the simple crown off his skull and setting it down on the table next to the bed. 

“... I had an argument with my father.” He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I tried to talk to him about this. He… wasn't happy about it. It’s so frustrating, he can’t even seem to understand that even if we weren’t together, I wouldn’t want to marry a princess.” Cross hummed, taking his hand, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles.

“Like you said hun, he’s old fashioned.”

Dream sighed, sinking back down to his partner’s chest. “I know. I just… everyone is getting more and more impatient with me the older I get, they want me to make a decision and marry, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“I think...” Cross cupped his face, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You’ve had a busy day, and just need a good night’s rest. We can deal with this in the morning.” Dream giggled softly, a small smile returning to his round skull. 

“Most people wouldn’t expect a royal guard to procrastinate.”

“I’m tired, so sue me.” He nuzzled his cheek, erupting more giggles from the smaller monster. 

Dream pressed against Cross’s chest after the two had changed and settled into the rather large bed, his breath ghosting the larger skeleton’s ribcage. “You know I love you, right?”

“Of course I do sunflower.” He opened one eyelid, looking down to the monster snuggled up to his chest. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Every other couple can do cute things together, like go on dates and hold hands. We can’t do any of that unless it’s behind closed doors.” Dream’s eyelights were wide as he looked up, mouth drawn into a small frown. 

“Every couple is different hun.” Cross brushed his knuckles over his cheek. He could hear the castle staff rushing past the closed door. Guards would be patrolling the outer wall of the castle by now. Undyne and Papyrus had their shift later that night, around midnight. “Some stuff works for certain people, but doesn't work for others. Truth be told, I’m not a big fan of PDA anyways.”

Dream was quiet for a minute before he spoke up again, voice barely above a whisper. “Do you even want people to know we’re together?” 

“I do. If we could I’d be fine with going public about us - sure, the questions would kind of piss me off but I’d eventually be able to ignore them.” He stifled a yawn, watching as Dream hummed to himself.

“I want to do it. I’m tired of… hiding. I’ll talk about it with my father tomorrow, we have a session planned anyways.” Cross had always wondered what these “sessions” were, Dream had mentioned them multiple times, but was always reculent to really talk about them. He said that it was because he didn’t remember most of what happened, just that they talked for a bit then Gaster did some things to help him deal with the incident with Nightmare years ago. 

Which was another thing Cross still couldn’t fully wrap his head around. Before the second Prince had been executed, Cross had known him briefly. He hadn’t seemed bad at the time, just a normal kid, albeit a bit shy around the guard-in-training. The twins had seemed close too, always smiles and playing together, happily including little Cross in their strange games. Dream’s memories of his brother differed quite a bit from Cross’s own personal memories: Cruel and rude, even as a child, Dream once said the attack against himself and Gaster wouldn’t have been so shocking if he hadn’t been so trusting of his brother. 

Cross had decided it was best not to question it too much. Dream would have known the other prince better than him, and if he was right about his brother, then everything he thought he knew could be all a lie. An act.

“You sure he won’t freak out over that?”

“I don’t know. Everyone is waiting for me to step up as king and announce an engagement. If I have to do that, I at least want it to be someone I actually care about.” 

Cross pressed a soft kiss to his temple, earning himself a happy coo from the other. “I love you.”

“I love you too Cross.”

*****

“It’s what I want, I don’t see the problem.” Dream crossed his arms, huffing. If this had been any other situation, he knew very well that his father would scold him for acting so childish. Perhaps he still will, going by the way his lower eyelid was twitching.

“Must you be so naive?” The king brought a gloved hand up to his skull, messaging his temple. “We discussed this last night, it is not the correct thing to do, you must-”

“My real mom and dad married for love, why can’t I?!” He regretted his choice of words the minute they left his lips, his hands clasping over his mouth. Gaster’s eyes widened, before narrowing, lips pulling up into a snarl. “I’m so sorry, I really don’t know where that came from-” The older monster grabbed onto his arm, pulling him towards the stairs. He could remember the first time he walked down the stairs, actually remembered being scared for his ‘poor’ brother. The thought sparked anger in his soul, but was overshadowed by his new fear. 

“I should have done this as soon as you showed interest in that pathetic guard.” His voice was almost a growl, filling Dream with a sense of dread.

“What are you talking about? What are you-” He yelped as his adoptive father shoved him onto the cold table still implanted in the center of the room. The same one he had used to restrain Nightmare. The prince drew back in disgust, but chains formed around his wrists and ankles, pulling him flat on his back. The restraints tingled with energy against his bones. Magic. “Father, stop this!”

“This should teach you to not disobey me.” He was holding a small syringe, hovering over him. His eyes seemed so emotionless, so cold. 

This felt so familiar to Dream, but he couldn’t understand why. It was like he was on a diving board, the water so far below him, but he knew there was something important in those rough waters. He just needed to jump, but everytime he neared the edge and looked down, his stomach leapt to his throat, his lunch threatening to come back up. 

The King roughly grasped his arm, pricking his shoulder with the needle. Dream jerked away, but whatever was in the shot worked quickly, his vision blurring and his body going limp. He could hear Gaster moving around beside him, unable to turn his skull to actually see what the other skeleton was going to do next.

It finally dawned on Dream why this was so familiar. This has happened before. This is why he could never remember these sessions. 

It was also why he wouldn’t be able to remember any of this afterwards. 

******

Cross rocked back on the balls of his feet, blowing out a puff of air. He was standing outside of Dream’s room, after all of his meetings with the king, he’d come here to regroup with Cross and they’d go on to do whatever else the young Prince had left to do that day. 

He was 5 minutes late.

Dream was never late.

He knew better than to worry, he knew that the skeleton had planned to have a rather important conversation with the king, but that was also the exact reason why he was worried. After seeing how upset he had gotten last night, Cross really didn’t want to see a repeat of that. 

“Um, excuse me, you’re blocking my door-”

Cross’s eyelights snapped to the slightly shorter figure in front of him and nearly laughed. He had been too distracted by his thoughts to notice Dream come up to him. A smile spread across his lips, chuckling softly. “There you are. I was starting to get worried you’d gotten lost or something.”

He had to admit, Dream looked different; his eyelights seemed dimmer, faint dark rings under each eye socket, a confused frown instead of his usual cheery grin. He looked tired. “Do I know you?”

A sharp pain stabbed Cross’s soul, his smile dropping instantly. “That’s not funny Dream, stop messing with me.”

The Prince's eyes caught on his uniform, before making their way back to his face. “I’m afraid I'm not ‘messing with you.’ Are you one of the new guards? It’s a pleasure to meet you but I do believe guard training is done in the courtyard not in front of the royal bedrooms.” Even the way he talked was wrong. The pain grew to something Cross had never felt before. Desperation. “ I will excuse your lack of formality this time, but next time, you would do well to remember I am royalty and will be addressed as such. Now, please excuse me, I have work I must get to.”

Cross gripped Dream’s smaller hand, not wanting to let him go. “What did he do to you? We’ve been together for years-”

He jerked his hand away from the guard, eyebrows narrowing. “As I said, I don’t know you sir. Now please, return to your post.” 

With that, Dream turned and walked off, whatever he had needed from his room clearly forgotten. Cross wanted to scream - the King had to have done something. That was the only way to explain this, the only way to explain those stupid sessions. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted them, and yet he just sat back and let this happen. 

They were supposed to be announcing their relationship. 

The monster let out a howl, ramming his fist into the wall. It cracked under the force, a few bits crumbling to the ground. Cross huffed, pushing away from the wall, anger rolling off him in waves along with his magic. 

The angry monster shoved the large doors to the throne room open, eyes zeroing in on the king. He had been right to assume this was where he’d be, and luckily he was alone, aside from Alphys. “What the fuck did you do to Dream?!” Cross crossed the room in large strides to the tall monster, pushing away his urges to attack him, to claw at his eyes and demand that he give him his Dream back. 

“Ah, I take it you ran into my son?” He turned to him, stepping closer, their magic clashing. “I simply made him forget any unnecessary obstacles that was stopping him from being as efficient as he could be.” Cross snarled.

“So you stripped him or everything that actually made him a person?” He clenched his fists, feeling the tips of his phalanges dig into his palms. “Just so he could be your personal robot that will do anything you tell him?”

The King rolled his eyes, waving a hand. Dismissing him. It only angered Cross more. “I don’t have time to try to explain this to you. I’ve decided that you are no longer needed here, you are no longer a part of the royal guard. If you are to leave quietly, and peacefully, I will not charge you with treason for speaking so disrespectfully to your king.”

God, had his face always been so punchable? Cross bit his tongue, as mad as he was, he didn’t want to deal with getting in any legal trouble. “Fine. I’ll leave.” But this won’t be the last time the king sees him.

Cross knew better than to tell the king that, though.

*****

To say Undyne had been surprised that Cross was leaving would be an understatement. She almost seemed as mad as he had been, but he had all but ignored her. Truth be told he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone right now, he still felt like he was fuming. Even now, as he leaned against a lamppost in the now almost empty city center, an old jacket covering his arms and done up to his chin, covering the top half of his old uniform. The air was much cooler now, and fewer people roamed the streets; no more children were out, and most people seemed attracted to the nearest bar, Gold Gardens. Cross could hear the patrons yelling even from his spot across the street, his mild headache threatening to turn into a migraine. His eyes were stuck on the flyer he had seen earlier, the paper fluttering every few minutes as a gust of wind blew by. 

Eventually, Cross pushed his body off the post, crossing the street to the already full bar, both to finally figure out whatever that damn flyer said, and to get a drink - he needed something to relax him, even if it was just for the night. 

Grabbing onto one corner of the paper, Cross let out a small snort. Revolution propaganda - how often did stuff like this go around? He was pretty biased now, but he could understand why people would want this now. He still found it stupid though - civilians against the actual crown? No way they’d win, it’d only end in thousands of unnecessary deaths.

The monster let the paper fall back against the door. Stepping into the crowded bar, the smell of sweat and alcohol practically slapped him in the face. The building looked bigger from the outside, and it was stuffy inside. Cross pushed down a groan, pushing his way past sloppy drunk monsters.

There was a black skeleton leaning against the bar, he seemed only a few inches taller than Cross, his eye sockets a deep red with blue stripes extending from the bottom of his sockets to the bottom of his skull. He seemed uncomfortable even being there, flinching ever so slightly whenever a patron got just a bit too close to him, or someone’s drink almost spilled. Despite this, Cross quickly picked up the faint aura of energy surrounding him. He was strong, no doubt about it. 

“Look, I don’t want to be here either, and I’m not asking you to actually support me, I just want to put a few flyers up.” So he was the one responsible for those? He sure as hell didn’t look like someone who would want to start something as serious as a revolution. Cross took a seat a few feet away, close enough to listen in, but not close enough to be suspicious.

“You don’t seem to understand, so let me explain again.” The bartender had a slight twang to her voice, her hands in fists on her wide hips. “Havin’ those flyers in here is basically sayin’ I support this kind of nonsense. Bad for business. You’re lucky I even let you put up that one outside.” The black skeleton sighed, shoulders slumping.

“Fine, whatever. It’s a good cause, you know.”

“Sure, ‘cause war is always a good thing to support.”

The man huffed, stepping away from the wooden bar. His eyes briefly caught Cross’s, a look of anger and determination sparked within them. Without another word, the monster made his way out of the bar, shoving past others.

“Sorry ‘bout that. What can I get ya, hon?” Cross ignored her, standing up and following the stranger. 

He was standing a few feet away from Gold Gardens, leaning against the side of a brick building, hand pressing against his stomach. Definitely wasn’t a fan of alcohol, it certainly was a sign of dedication for going into a bar, of all things, if he knew just the smell of the stuff made him sick. His head snapped upwards as Cross approached him. “What do you want?”

He gestured with his skull to the bar behind him. “You’re the one who put up that flyer?”

“I am, what about it?” His magic aura sparked, he was certainly on edge. 

“Relax, I don’t want any trouble.” He waited a second for the man’s magic to relax again. “I want in. My name is Cross, I used to be a part of the royal guard.”

“I know. Everyone knows who you are.” His hand wrapped around a small, round locket hanging from his neck. “Name’s Error. Why the hell would you want to join us? As far as I know, you’ll be a mole.”

“I could give you info on how things are run at the castle: our tricks and protocols. And the king doesn’t want anything to do with me, I won’t be in contact with anyone.”

“And how do I know I can trust you?” Error crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. Cross didn’t blame him for being suspicious, he knew he’d be the same way if their roles were reversed.

He thought for a minute, wracking his brain for a good reason for this stranger to trust him. Truth be told, there weren’t any he could think of...well, expect for one. “The Prince and I. We were dating. The King - Gaster, did something to him, brainwashed him or some shit. That’s why I want to join you. I want to save him.” 

Error looked shocked, something in his eyes softening for a minute. “...I’m doing this to save someone too. My fiance; the king kidnapped him about two weeks ago. God, I just want him to be ok.”

Cross’s eyebrows shot up. “Is his last name Agate?”

The darker skeleton’s eyes filled with mistrust almost immediately. “... Yeah. Ink Agate. How did you know that?”

“I saw him. Only once though, but if you say Gaster kept him at the castle. He wasn’t in the dungeon, I know that for sure. And there’s only a few places in that castle I could see him being. Places no one but the royals and certain staff would have access to.”

Error was quiet for a moment, Cross could almost see the gears turning in his skull, weighing the pros and cons. “Fine. You can join. But if you do anything to make me regret this, you’re dead.”

He snorted. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

Funny, a few minutes ago, Cross had been on the side of that bartender - that this revolution was a bad idea, that it would surely end horribly.

Yet here he was, joining the damn thing. Maybe it was the determination in this monster, Error, that made him want to do it. Maybe it was the small hope that this would help him get Dream back. Whatever the reason was, Cross felt his soul pound in his chest with anticipation. 

He’d get Dream back. Dream and his memories.

He was filled with determination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun writing this chapter, and it's my first time writing something a bit more action wise, so I hope I did well! ^^


	4. ~Chapter 4~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/B5l28mWAbPj/?igshid=8pwo38p4b4fh) or [Tumblr](https://fandomartist1273.tumblr.com/post/189150992336/nisha-i-really-wanted-to-make-a-fanchild-soooo)

You’re up early.” 

Sans hummed softly, sitting down next to his father on the porch of their house, a warm cup of coffee in his hands. The sun was still rising, bathing the yard and old cottage in orange and yellow light, birds chirping around them from the safety of the trees. Truth be told, Sans had barely gotten any sleep, and when he noticed light shining in through his blinds, he had simply stopped trying and decided to get up. His eyelids still felt heavy from the lack of sleep, but he knew the coffee would perk him up. “Guess I’m just feeling like a duck today.”

The second monster - a gentle, large goat monster - raised an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“‘Cause they wake up at the quack of dawn.” That earned the skeleton a snort and a quiet chuckle from the older monster.

Asgore Dreemurr and his wife, Toriel, had adopted Sans and his younger brother 16 years ago; Sans being 12 at the time and Papyrus only 5. He couldn’t remember how the two of them ended up on the streets - most likely because he’d subsciously repressed all memories from before the two goat monsters had found them - but he did remember he hadn’t exactly trusted the two adults right away. For the first 3 months of living with the Dreemurrs, back when they still lived in BlightView, Sans made sure both he and the younger skeleton kept a backpack filled with some of their clothes under their beds, just in case they needed to run away. Slowly, young Sans warmed up to the two adults, eventually coming to call them “mom” and “dad”.

Seven years after the skeleton brothers came to live with them, and a little after Sans had graduated from high school, the Dreemurrs adopted two young children again. This time, both of the kids were human; one was a red-eyed girl named Chara who, despite only being nine, could be quite a violent child, having gotten into multiple fights at the orphanage. The other child, Frisk (who has used they/them pronouns since they were nine), wasn’t biologically related to Chara, but she always referred to them as her younger sibling. The younger of the two had been born blind and, because of it, needed more help doing simple tasks than other children. Papyrus quickly bonded with their new siblings after they moved in, just as he had with Toriel and Asgore; but Sans quickly bonded more with Frisk than Chara, finding it easier to entertain the younger of the two (plus Frisk always laughed at his puns while Chara always tried to criticize him or just groan).

Back when Sans turned 22, he got accepted into one of the more advanced and well known universities in BlightView: Snowdin University. It was a great opportunity for him to finally dip his toes into the world of soulology and related sciences. At the time he had enjoyed all the studying - truth be told, he had loved every bit of it. Something about learning new things and getting to work with his hands sent a jolt to his soul.

He was still a bit disappointed he had to drop out.

Shortly into his first year, he and his brother had their first real argument - sure, there had been times while growing up that they’d bickered here and there, all siblings do - but this argument was different. Growing up the younger skeleton was obsessed with anything and everything that related to the Royal guards, and that obsession only grew the older he got. Sans, on the other hand, found the guards to be corrupt and, more likely than not, they wouldn’t actually help the people when they were in trouble. Sans had seen what the slums were like, what the poor monsters there had to go through. The only thing he didn’t see were those “great” guards doing anything to help them. So, when Papyrus came to Sans explaining how he wanted nothing more than to be a guard himself, Sans flipped. The last thing he wanted was for his little brother to be tainted by them, but Papyrus didn’t see what was wrong with the government -the obvious favouritizm for families who had more money, the way most of them would break laws only to never being prosecuted for it- it all went over the younger monster’s head. The last time Sans actually saw and talked to his brother was at their mother's funeral a year later. After that, Papyrus left and made good on his dream: he joined the royal guard.

It was a bad time for him to leave, but Sans couldn’t blame him from running away considering he tried to do the same thing. For a little over a year he plunged headfirst into his studies, he stopped talking to Papyrus completely, and Asgore was lucky to hear from either of the skeletons at least once a month. Then, during his christmas break he’d decided, at the last minute, to visit his family. After seeing the condition his father was in, he quickly regretted the past year. The skeleton dropped out of university and came to live with the rest of his family full time, helping them move out of the city and onto a quiet farm almost 30 minutes outside of town. About a 20 minute walk away, there was a large tree on a low hill, perfect for picnics and star gazing.

“Papyrus called yesterday.”

Sans hummed, bringing his cup up to his lips, a familiar weight settling on his soul. “You should talk to him again.” The goat monster’s eyes watching him through his small black framed glasses, Sans’ eyes dropped down to the dark liquid in his mug. To this day, he still had that childish mindset of always wanting to please his parents, to make them proud. He knew Asgore would have preferred he’d stayed in school - he had been only a year away from graduating, and with how fast he had been working he probably could have finished sooner. 

“I know.” Was all Sans could think to say - funny, when it came to souls or puns he could talk for hours, and yet whenever it came to this topic, his brother, he struggled to string a sentence together. He knew what he was supposed to say, that he forgave his brother and would try to rekindle their relationship and call him. Yet, the words would never leave his mouth. Maybe it was petty, but he was still hurt that his brother hadn’t listened to his worries and advice.

The front door suddenly opened, saving Sans from having to think more about his confusing emotions. Chara yawned, flopping down onto the wooden deck between the two boys. “Morning sleepyhead.” The 16 year old grumbled, pulling her pale legs to her chest.

“I don’t want to go to school today.”

“Are you sick? 

“...yes?” She clutched her stomach. “Incredibly sick. I don’t think I’ll be able to go at all next week either.” Sans snorted, rolling his eyelights as his sister overdramatically coughed.

He stood up, slipping back into the house when he heard his father begin to chide Chara on how important her education is and blah blah blah. He didn’t disagree with him, but he was too tired to sit through a lecture. His attention was brought to the stairs that Frisk was attempting to walk down; one hand was gripping the railing and the other was pressing a small flower plushie they’d affectionately named Flowey to their chest, face contorted in concentration. Chara probably woke them up, she wasn’t a morning person and tended to be rather loud while waking up. “Need some help kiddo?” Their head whipped up at the sound of his voice, a small smile forming. 

“Good morning Sans.” They giggled as the monster easily lifted the 10 year-old up, their small hands grabbing his shoulders for support. “Are you ok? Your magic is dim.” 

Despite having been born blind, Frisk had the unique ability to “see” other’s magic. They explained it as a type of aura they more or less felt, rather than visibly saw. That being said, they always knew the colour of someone’s magic, and so began the tradition of Sans explaining the sky every morning to the smaller child using their family’s magic colours as reference. 

“I’m fine buddy, just a bit tired.” It wasn’t really a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. “Whatcha want for breakfast?”

He set his sibling down at the kitchen table, turning his attention to the fridge; he could still hear Asgore and Chara talking on the deck, but he knew she’d have to come in soon to eat, shower, and do whatever else teenagers do to get ready. “Omelet!” 

Sans let out a small laugh at the child’s excitement, pulling out the carton of eggs. They were getting low on groceries, he would probably go grab a few things after dropping Chara and Frisk off at school. “Eggsellent choice.” 

The skeleton cracked two eggs into a small dish, pulling out a fork to whisk them. Frisk was resting their head on the table, humming softly to themself as their fingers danced over the soft, old toy. As far as Sans knew, they got it from their biological mother, though he had a feeling Frisk had been too young to remember the origin of the toy, just the sentimental value. “What’s the sky like today?” 

“Orange, like dad, at the bottom.” His gaze shifted to the window as he turned on one of the stove burners. “Fading into a light blue, there’s not too many clouds out either.” 

With a loud huff, Chara shuffled into the dining room. “This is bullshit.”

“Language.” Sans smirked, his younger sister glaring and flipping him off. 

“What I mean is, how come you can just drop out and yet Frisk and I are stuck having to go to school?” She crossed her arms, puffing out her rosy cheeks. Her face was dotted with freckles and once Sans, in hopes of annoying his younger sister, said that they were like stars in the sky and that he could totally see the big dipper on her nose. That was the first time anyone had ever thrown a math textbook at him.

“I like school though”

“That’s because you're not in high school Frisk. Everyone is so annoying there and the couples-” Her nose scrunched up. “Disgusting. I swear to god, Sans, the amount of times I’ve seen them grinding on each other in the hallways-”

“What’s grinding?”

Ignoring Frisk because he was not ready to have that kind of conversation with his 10 year-old sibling, Sans snickered. “Teenagers are horny, your point being?” The girl only gumbled, sinking further into the wooden chair. Sans flipped the omelet over in the sizzling frying pan. “And I dropped out for a reason Chara; plus, I’m an adult.”

“You don’t act like an adult with all your dumb jokes.”

“What do you mean? I’m a comedi-hen.” Chara groaned loudly behind him. 

“It’s too early for this-” The chair creaked as she stood up, walking into the kitchen and pushing Sans’s shoulder. “How come Frisk gets a special breakfast?”

“First come, first serve. Plus they’re 10 and blind, so.” He turned off the burner, pulling the pan up and grabbing a clean plate. “Where’d Dad go by the way?”

“To get dressed, he said that I needed to go eat.” Grabbing a bowl, she dumped some cereal into it. “We need more of this, we’re almost out.”

Sans slid the omelett out of the pan and onto the plate. “I know, I’ll go shopping after you two are at school.” 

After cutting up the omelette, he set the plate down in front of Frisk, and slipped into the chair next to them. He carefully slipped a fork into their hand, guiding it to the food. “Eat up kiddo, you need your strength.”

Chara sat back down, nearly spilling her cereal. “So I heard that someone’s going to start a revolution in Blightview.” The skeleton monster across from her raised an eyebrow. “Apparently there’s flyers and everything, plus I read an article-”

“Another gossip article? You know not everything on the internet is true.” He nudged his sibling’s hand, helping them stab another piece of food. 

“I thought you would be more excited for this, aren’t you pretty anti-government?” 

“I’m not anti-government, I just think some things are corrupt and need to be done differently.” The idea of a revolt was a bit intriguing, if Sans was being completely honest with himself. A revolt even sounded like something he could see himself joining. If it was real.

He was used to seeing people making rumors about so-and-so doing something, or a new rebel group, or which celebrities are dating (A good example of that would be the whole internet going crazy over the prince and his guard, who mysteriously disappeared recently. A dark part of Sans wondered if the king had him killed). It was all just drama manifested to entertain the city, and most of it turned out to be fake. He doubted this time would be any different. 

“Whatever, I thought it was cool.”

“Wouldn't people die if that was true though?”

Sans and Chara shared a look, an uncomfortable silence falling over the table. There were only two things that they all silently agreed not to talk about at their home: The fact that they never see Papyrus anymore, and death. Clearing his nonexistent throat, the skeleton broke the silence, “Maybe, but we don’t need to worry about that ‘cause it won’t happen.” He ruffled their hair, noticing Chara raise an eyebrow out of the corner of his eye. 

Even if he wasn’t right about it not happening, it was better if Frisk didn’t worry about it, they’re still a child after all. 

*****

Sans adjusted the seatbelt across Frisk’s chest, setting their cane down on the seat beside them. After making sure they had all their things and that he hadn’t forgotten anything, he slipped into the driver's seat of his car. “You have everything?” Chara nodded from the passenger seat, arms crossed and her backpack pressed against her legs on the floor of the car. “Brighten up, at least it’s Friday, right?”

The girl shrugged, watching their house fade into the distance as Sans pulled out onto the road. “I have a science test today.”

The skeleton perked up, his almost constant smile growing. “Oh? Ion sure you’ll do great.”

Chara gave him a deadpan look. “Did you just-” Sans laughed, feeling rather than actually seeing the human’s red-eyed glare. “Oh, you are the worst!” 

“What? I just think that you’re in your element when you write tests.” She smacked his arm, nearly screaming when the car filled with his and Frisk’s laughter.

The drive to the city went by quickly, and soon Sans was alone in a grocery store, attempting to remember what they needed. He always seemed to remember things better if he wrote them down, that's how he always used to study for exams. Writing and rewriting his notes for hours on end until he could recite them in his sleep - he’d end up with killer wrist pain the day after the test, but he got a good grade, so it had been worth it. 

His eyelights drifted to a small flyer taped to one of the shelves; taking a closer look, he nearly burst out laughing. It was one of those “revolution” posters Chara had been talking about that morning. Maybe it hadn’t been all fake. He took hold of the paper, pulling it off the mental shelf, folding it and putting it in the pocket of his jacket. He could look more into it tonight, maybe he really would be joining a rebel group. That would certainly spice up his daily life. 

He moved to another aisle, pausing when his eyes caught on the only other monster there. He was a black skeleton, a beige scarf pulled up to his chin; he was kneeling in front of the baking supplies, a stack of the revolution posters beside him. “So you’re the guy putting all those up?” The skeleton jolted slightly, gaze snapping up to meet Sans’s eyes.

The man grunted, finished taping the flyer to the shelf and standing to his full height - damn, he was tall. Sans’ skull just reached his nose. “What’s it to you?” 

Pulling the folded paper from his pocket, he flashed it at the taller monster. “That’s a lot of dedication for something that might not even work. You actually going to go through with it?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in his voice, and Sans would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed. “You kept one of them, you planning on joining?”

The white skeleton paused, slipping the paper back into his jacket. “I dunno.” And he really didn’t. A part of his soul sparked at the opportunity, a small bit of hope thinking about how this could be a way to really show how toxic the government is, a way to show just how many people weren't happy with how things are. On the other hand though, he didn’t want his family to be involved with any of this. 

The black skeleton looked him up and down, pulling out a notepad and pen from one of the pockets on the brown vest he wore. “Name’s Error by the way.”

“Sans.”

“Well, Sans,” He ripped out the paper, pressing it into the palm of the other’s hand. “Call me if you make up your mind. We could use all the help we can get.” 

The white skeleton watched as Error picked up his stack of papers again and left the aisle before looking down at the paper where a string of numbers was written in messy handwriting. He felt like he’d just been a part of some drug deal - he couldn’t help but wonder why this man, this Error person, was so determined to do this. His resolve was way too strong for it to be just a case of wanting to do some good in the world, maybe he was doing it for someone? That’s the same reason Sans wanted to join, wasn’t it? 

At least he wouldn’t have to do any digging if this was the real deal or not, but now his skull was practically swimming. He massaged his head, already feeling a headache forming.

He could already tell that tonight would be another restless one.

*****

He was standing in a golden hallway, sunlight filtering in through the stained glass windows that lined the walls. There was a child standing in the hallway with him, but they were covered in shadows, the gleam of a knife and the shocking red of their eyes the only details Sans could make out. He was mad at them, he didn’t know why, but he did know he needed to stop them. 

The child sprinted towards him, head down so that their shaggy brown hair covered those blood red eyes. Sans sprung into action, his hand shooting up as rows of sharpened bones shot through the ground, breaking the reflective tiles that lined the floor. The human dodged them effortlessly, as if they’ve done this before. Shaking off his surprise, his hand flew out again, this time wrapping his magic around their soul, coating it with his blue magic. He directed his hands to the side, moving them up and down, changing the humans gravity to try and throw them into his bone attacks; but each time they would manage to jump before they could even be scratched. 

Fighting down a groan of annoyance, he let the human fall to the ground. He was starting to get tired, and it seemed like nothing he did could stop this child. With a grunt, he summoned a ring of gaster blasters around them and, one after another, the giant skulls let out a blast of pure, hot magic.

Dust floated out from the debris as Sans fell to his knees, panting; simply using one of the blasters was straining, but so many at once? He was absolutely exhausted. He brought his eyes up to look at the damage just in time to see the child sprint out from the cloud of dust, their blade pointed out in front of them and pointed directly at Sans. Panic surged through his soul as he willed his legs to push him up, for his magic to pull him into that empty backless that was the void and move him a few feet away, for anything- 

He wasn’t fast enough. The knife slipped through the gaps of his ribs, implanting itself directly into his soul. He gasped, pain shooting out throughout his body from the very center of his being. For the first time during this whole fight, he got to see the face of his attacker, and it was enough to make him sick.

It was Frisk who grinned widely on the other end of the knife, their eyes a deep, rage filled red. 

Sans’ eye sockets sprung open, a choked gasp leaving his throat. His hand flew up to his ribcage, grabbing the light fabric of his shirt, his soul pounding. His forehead was slick with sweat as his breathing began slowing down, recovering from the nightmare. He cursed softly, it was the third time that week he had had the same nightmare, and everytime it left him feeling panicked. He sat up, glancing at the clock: 3 am. As quietly as he could, he slipped out of his bed, pushing his worn out pink slippers onto his feet, and pulling out the box of cigarettes and a lighter from his sock drawer, along with his phone from off his night stand. He’d lost count of how many times Asgore has ridiculed him on why he shouldn’t smoke, hence why Sans now made sure to keep this stuff hidden. For monsters there were no health risks from smoking, unlike humans, but it’s still frowned upon by most. Either way, they were the only things that calmed Sans down in times like this, and he’d take a few people looking down on him if it meant he wouldn’t stay strung up. 

Slowly, he made his way down stairs and grabbed his jacket, pulling it over his arms. Creaking the door open, he moved out into the cold night air, sitting down on the wooden deck and setting one of the smokes on his lips and carefully lighting it. His mind wandered as he blew out a cloud of smoke, turning back to the grocery store. He needed to make up his mind, he knew that. If he joined, he’d be able to really stand up for what he believes, he could possibly bring his brother back - or at least it might help him see Sans’ point of view - and he’d be protecting the rest of family from anything bad the government might do in the future. But it could also be dangerous, he’d essentially be putting his life on the line if this escalated into a full out war.

Was he willing to risk his life to protect his family?

He pulled out the scrap of paper with Error’s number, punching the digits into his phone.

Of course he was.

The other monster answered after three rings, sounding groggy. “Hello?”

“Hey. It’s Sans. From the grocery store.” He took another puff from his lit cigarette, watching the twinkling stars above him. He’d always loved space and stars and anything to do with it, he’d almost chosen astronomy as his major. 

“Oh, you.” He could hear the other monster yawn. “I really hope this is worth waking me up in the middle of the night.” He supposed he probably should have waited until morning to call. 

“I want to join.”

There was a pause, and then a tired laugh. “Great, thanks. Go to the Gold Gardens in the city center tomorrow around midnight - if you don’t know where it is, it’s easy to find. Me or someone else will be there to take you to our camp. Got it.”

“Mhm.” He pushed his smoke into a stone, snuffing it out.

“And Sans?”

“Yeah?”

“It's good to have you on the team.”

*****

Sans shifted on his feet outside of the loud bar, the light from the building shining out onto the street. Error had been right about it being easy to find the place; it was the easily the busiest bar in the area, and the sign was covered with tacky gold vines. The hardest part had been actually leaving his home without waking anyone up, which he didn’t do successfully. Frisk had woken up when he was going down the stairs; he had gotten them a glass of water then helped them back to bed, and for once he was happy they were blind. That way they couldn’t see that he was fully dressed. He really hoped that his car hadn’t woken anyone else up, he wasn’t sure how he’d safely explain this.

“You actually came, I’m surprised.”

Sans turned to the voice, quickly recognizing Error amongst the shadows. A small round locket shimmered when the light from the bar hit it. “Expected me to chicken out?”

“Kinda. Wouldn’t be the first time it happened.” He eyed the bar, eyebrows furrowing for a minute. “Come on, we should get going.”

“Should I be scared about where you’re taking me?” He followed the dark skeleton as he began walking down the street. The city looked so different in the dark, he’d gotten so used to seeing people crowding the sidewalks, seeing them deserted like this just felt wrong. When Error didn’t answer his first question, just grunted softly, he decided to try his luck at another one. “Why’d you decide to do this? Going from your determination, I’m guessing it’s something a bit deeper than just wanting to be a hero.”

Error glanced back to him, then sighed, one hand coming up to cup the locket. “The king kidnapped my fiance.” He grew silent again, seeming to be lost in thought. “I just want him back.”

A pang of empathy hit Sans’ soul, it was easy to tell that this man was hurting. A part of him was at awe of just how dedicated Error was to whoever this mystery monster is. “That’s… I’m sorry.”

“... Don’t. You’re joining the rebellion, that’s good enough. I don’t want any pity.” He quickened his pace, and the two once again fell into silence. 

Turns out the rebel camp was in an abandoned orphanage near the edge of town, bordering on the slums; the building wasn’t old enough to be falling apart yet, but vines were beginning to climb up the brick walls. The yard was overgrown, and there were already a few tents set up, monsters lingered all around the area. Error had recruited more people than Sans had expected, and it was a rather unassuming place, too. The wall surrounding the orphanage gave all the monsters within a small bit of protection from onlookers. 

Sans’ eyelights caught on another skeleton sitting by a fire, tossing a blade formed from red and purple magic: he recognized the man imminently, anyone would. Cross Viva, previously the prince’s personal guard and possible lover. Looks like he wasn’t killed after all.

“This is the main base for us all, we’re still getting things set up, as you can see. We’re working on cleaning out that building so anyone who doesn’t have a good home can have a place to sleep. Or anyone who just wants to stick around.” He gestured to the three story building. “We have a hundred or so people so far. Most of them are from the slums. I’m hoping our numbers will get higher soon though, the more people the better.” He turned his body fully to Sans, crossing his arms. There were faint scars there, but he quickly pulled his gaze away from the red bones, not wanting to be rude. “You sure you want to do this? I don’t want you changing your mind if shit suddenly hits the fan.”

Sans gave his best ‘I’m ready’ smile, nodding his skull. “I’m sure. I got people I want to protect, and this seems like the best way to do that.”

Error gave a small smile. “Good to know. I’ll hold you to that. I need to get back to work, if you have any other questions, go talk to Cross over there. Plus you have my number - please don’t spam me though.”

Sans gave a thumbs up as the other monster retreated. He took a deep breath, looking around the dark area. Now all he has to do is make sure Frisk, Asgore or Chara don’t find out that he’s a part of this.

How hard could that be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is a bit shorter than the others but I hope you all liked it none the less! ^^'


	5. ~Chapter 5~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/B5l28mWAbPj/?igshid=8pwo38p4b4fh) or [Tumblr](https://fandomartist1273.tumblr.com/post/189150992336/nisha-i-really-wanted-to-make-a-fanchild-soooo)

Killer shifted under the thin grey blanket, a shiver coursing through his small frame. The cold air was beginning to nip at his cheeks and bare toe, he was sure they’d be turning black if he was a human. It was Christmas night, and he could see snow falling through the broken windows and gaps between the wooden boards of his home. His mother had told them they’d only be living here until they had enough money to get a better home - honestly, he just wished they had a real door and glass windows to stop the chilled air from getting inside. They didn’t have much for belongings, either: two blankets, the gray one that he was using now, and a torn blue one, a large mattress for them to sleep on, and an old teddy bear a nurse had given him when he was first born. He also had the necklace his mother had given him when he was two: it was a bright red and looked like a target. It was simple, but Killer loved it. It was from his mom, after all.

Despite the cold gusts of wind that swept in through the door frame and shattered windows that made the young boy's bones rattle, and the dull pain coming from his growing fangs, Killer was excited, and happy. After his father suddenly left two years ago, when Killer had only been 10, his mom had started acting differently. She smiled less, talked less and even moved less, spending most days sitting on the mattress and staring black eyed at the empty door frame. They also stopped celebrating Christmas, or his birthday or any other special days. His mom’s sudden numbness scared Killer at first - he tried “finding” (aka stealing) her favourite flowers, grabbing (stealing) her favourite baked treats when passing a local bakery. Nothing got a reaction, the flowers wilted without being held once, the treats went stale and eventually were eaten by Killer as to not waste extra food. After almost half a year, the boy started accepting this as his new reality. He became good at taking care of himself and his mom. Thanks to how small he was, it was easy for him to snatch certain things to keep them going. All of this meant the boy had a lot of time alone with his thoughts, which helped water and grow his hate for his father. It was his fault that his mom was like this now. Killer didn’t even know why the older monster left, but it must have been a stupid reason. Stupid people do things for stupid reasons.

But things were changing. His mother had promised they’d have a proper Christmas, with food, presents, songs and laughter. His mother would smile and rub the top of his skull lovingly. They’d be like a normal family, like the ones who lived outside of the slums. They could be normal too, at least for a day. 

So when he had woken up that morning and found his mother nowhere in sight, he assumed it was because she left early to get everything ready.

It was dusk now.

He shook his skull, pulling a smile back on and tightening his grip on the blanket around his shoulders. She was coming back. She promised. Unlike his dad, she would never leave, she would never break her promise.

She loved him. 

She had said so last night, right before the 12-year-old fell asleep. 

She never did come back though.

Killer waited there for a week before he finally let himself accept the truth. His mother, the woman he thought would always be there for him, would always love him, was gone. 

She was no better than that asshole who’d left two years prior. He let out a guttural scream, throwing the blanket from his shoulders, kicking the mattress as hard as he could. He yanked his old ratty teddy bear from its normal spot, clawing at the head and limbs, the fluffy stuffing covering the ground like a blanket of snow, tears streaming down his dirty cheeks in thick drops. Rage boiled in his stomach, it made him feel hot, like a bomb ready to blow.

He was mad at his father for leaving and turning his mom into a shell of a person.

He was mad at his mother for lying to him.

But most of all, he was mad at himself, because deep, deep down in his soul, he knew this was his fault. If he had just been a better son, they would be here. No matter how hard he tried to blame his parents for this, no matter how much he said they were the villains, he’d always known all of this was his fault. 

This was the first time Killer realized that love wasn’t for everyone. Some people just didn’t deserve it, or maybe they were just unlucky. But the boy knew he was one of those people now, he knew that if he ever let himself love again, trust again, he would only get hurt.

*****

Eleven years later, Killer still held that anger, but he’d found ways to push it down until the bonfire was just a few embers. He’d left that old house in the spring, after all the snow had melted. He set up his new home on top of a four story building near the outskirts of the slums, “the shiny half of the dump” as Killer liked to call it. The hardest part was stealing a few wooden planks, nails and a hammer to actually make a small little hut on the roof - he’d nearly gotten caught when the owner noticed him, but luckily the skeleton could run much faster, even while carrying wood almost double his size. For only being a 12 years old, he still thought he did a pretty good job with the small shelter. Even though it only had three walls and a roof, and made winter a real bitch to deal with. Snatching blankets had been a breeze, plus he’d gathered a few small tables and random items he thought looked neat over the years. 

It was the closest thing he had to a home now, so he was happy with it.

Besides, it was nice to sit down on the edge of the building and see the bright lights from the rich parts of town. Bright blues, greens, yellows and sometimes pinks would rise into the sky from the tall buildings and billboards. Sometimes he wondered what would happen if he fell off that ledge, plummeting to the ground. Would the fall kill him? Or would he lay there with cracked bones until someone found him? Maybe he’d slowly disintegrate into white dust and be swept up by a gust of wind. 

He wouldn’t though. Not on purpose, at least. If he died it would mean his father and mother would win - surely they left because of him, so if he died they’d be getting what they wanted, and Killer would never let someone who wronged him win. Just the thought made his soul blaze with anger; if he could, he’d kill the two bastards. They were the ones who’d left him, abandoned him. 

Most of the time he did his best to avoid thoughts like that. If he ever did fall into that pit, he’d focus on the anger. That was better than feeling worthless.

A stray cat pawed at his foot, pulling his attention back to reality. He grunted, waving a hand to shoo the small creature. The cat nuzzled his bones, causing the skeleton to huff. “Go away, I don’t want you here.” He moved his legs closer to his body, wrapping his bed sheet around his body. He was sitting on the pile of heavy blankets in his shelter he called a “bed”, in the winter he’d actually use all of them to keep himself warm. The sun was setting, washing the city in oranges and reds, the sky beginning to turn a deep purple. The cat had curled up next to him at this point, and he sighed. He definitely wasn’t getting rid of this one anytime soon.

Slowly, he reached out and stroked the animal’s back, hearing it purr in response. “You all alone too?” The small cat meowed back.

After Killer had left his old home, he’d also changed his entire look. It took a few painful tries, but he eventually managed to sew together a shawl-like piece of clothing from stolen fabric and thread; it wrapped around his entire body and hung down to his knees, and he made sure to add a hood to cover his face. He liked the anonymity it gave him, plus, if he was honest, it made him feel cooler than the homeless 23-year-old monster that he was. 

He coughed suddenly, his body hunching slightly from the force. The cat startled, jumping up and hissing before scurrying away. Killer rolled his eyes, ignoring the small pang of regret, as he moved his hand away from his lips. Black magic dotted his milky white phalanges, he cursed softly under his breath. 

A year after Killer had been on his own for the first time, he started coughing and throwing up this strange black magic. At first it terrified him: he knew it was magic, but unlike the solid, dull red forms his magic usually took, this was pitch black and had the consistency of maple syrup. Not only that, but it always hurt when it came up, leaving a burning feeling in his throat. Sometimes it would even leak from his eye sockets like thick tears, making them burn and itch. The worst part was when people started to notice because they’d ask if he was ok or they’d ask what was happening to him; and it was downright annoying. Killer didn’t even know these people, so why would they act like they care? His theory was that it made them feel better about themselves. 

He coughed again, more magic spraying onto his hand. He groaned, it happened randomly, but it always seemed to get worse if he was mad or upset. He wiped his hand clean, pulling his mask off his chin and back over his mouth. The only reason he wore the thing was to hide the black goo whenever it happened. The mask was a simple red and, thanks to the smile sewn into the fabric, it looked like he was permanently grinning. He had a feeling it unnerved most people: a 4’6 tall man who always covered his face with a hood and was always smiling. He once even heard someone call him “little gremlin man” under their breath.

Sighing, Killer stood up from his spot, he needed to move around and clear his head. Maybe he’d be lucky and be able to snag himself a drink at that new bar, what was it called? Golden Garden or something like that?

Killer easily scaled down the building, slipping down a pipe that was nailed to the side. Sitting outside of a worn down house next to what Killer guessed used to be an apartment complex, was an old turtle monster sitting in a rocking chair. The old man looked him up and down and grunted. “You still stealing?”

“No no, I’m just living on the streets for fun now.” Killer leaned against the brick building, crossing his arms. “Why do you care?”

“A youngin like yerself shouldn’t be living on top of a crumbling building. You should get a job.”

“Oh my god, I never even thought of that! Thank you soooo much for your totally not obvious advice” He pitched his voice up a bit, milking his reply in the most dramatic way he could.

The turtle just glared. It wasn’t the first time these two had run into each other, and each time he would try to give Killer some “life saving advice”. Needless to say, it annoyed the crap out of the skeleton. “I care ‘cause you’re wasting yer life by living out here. Never even seen you with anybody, got no lover?”

Killer bristled, eyes narrowing. “I don’t need anyone else. They’d just get in my way.”

“Have you ever had a friend?”

Rage flooded Killer, his magic flaring up dangerously. Still, the old man held his stare, rocking back and forth in the creaky old chair. His hand shot up as he scowled under his mask, sticking up his middle finger to the man. The monster laughed as Killer turned his back, leaving as fast as he could without actually running.

Who was he to scold Killer? It wasn’t like he ever saw the old guy with anyone else either. The last thing Killer needed were people playing with his feelings, clouding his head with worries and fears. Besides, every one always left, and getting attached would only get him hurt. 

The streets of BlightView were dark by now, only illuminated by the few streets lights and lights shining from the windows of houses. He was in one of the residential areas of the city, and he knew the closer he got to the shopping areas there would be more lights and sounds, and of course more people. He didn’t really need anything from that part of town at least, though he could use a drink after talking to that monster. 

Killer groaned, rubbing his temple and ducking into a shadowed alley. It would be loud at any bar he went too, plus trying to get free drinks was a pain in the ass. Not to mention that some places didn’t even let him through the front door. He could try to grab something from a convenience store, but even that could be risky. It became harder to steal from those sorts of places the later it got - the darker it was, the less people were shopping, and less people shopping meant the workers paid even more attention to the few people in the store. The monster sunk down to the ground, wrapping his arms around his knees. He didn’t really want a drink anymore, he really just wanted something to calm his nerves. He was on edge, his magic buzzing irritatingly, the words from the turtle monster swimming in his head.

No, technically he hadn’t had any real friends since he was a kid; he knew most of the people who lived in the same area of the slums as him, but all of them more or less avoided each other unless there were protests. Sometimes during Christmas a bunch of slum monsters would get together and hold a feast for everyone in the area - Killer had never gone to one though, even when he was invited. He gently ran his fingers over the necklace hanging around his neck. After his mother left, he’d gotten rid of everything that made him think of her. Everything but the necklace.

He didn’t fully understand why he kept it, but he just couldn’t throw it away. Maybe deep down he knew he missed his family. Deep down he’d always wonder what he could have done so that they would have stayed. His grip tightened on the necklace. Even if he missed them, there was still that heavy rock of hate and anger in his soul. 

So what if he was jealous of all the dumb people in this city who had happy families and warm homes?

So what if, deep down, he wished someone loved him too? Even if they did, Killer would just push them away, scared of the unknown. Scared of being hurt?

So what if he was tired,angry, and sad; all at the same time? No one cared about the poor homeless boy. 

His cheeks suddenly felt wet and cold, bringing up a hand he confirmed that yes, he was crying, alone in a dark alleyway. He let out a short cry, slamming his fist into the pavement.

He hated feeling like this, he hated that he still let his feelings get to him. He hated his parents for leaving and fucking up his mind. He hated the world, he hated the stupid city. 

His stomach suddenly lurched, his hand flying up to yank his mask off as he turned to the side and vomited up black magic. He groaned as the nausea passed, slowly pushing on the ground and onto his feet. Clearly being out wasn’t doing him any good, and though the idea of having to pass by that old man again was enough to make him want to slam his skull into a wall, it was probably best he head home for now. 

Wiping his lips and moving his mask back into place, Killer withdrew from the shadowed alley. There was another skeleton across the street, his eyelights - one blue, one white - hooking onto Killer’s. There was a cigarette between his lips, and the long dark blue trench coat he wore blew around his legs with the gentle breeze. He raised one hand, giving Killer a small wave; he nodded back, speeding up his pace. He couldn’t remember seeing that particular skeleton around here before. Sure, it was a big city but most people stuck around certain places, and Killer was good at picking out familiar faces.

“Probably some tourist or something.” He mumbled under his breath, shooting a glance behind him. The monster was gone. “A fucking weird one too.”

*****

Killer grumbled, rolling over onto his side, hugging a folded blanket tightly to his chest. He didn’t know what time it was - funny how you lose track of that sort of thing when you never have access to a working clock - but considering the sun was blaring down on the metal roof, and there were obnoxiously loud kids screaming and playing down on the street, he’d have to guess it was around noon. He pressed his skull into the plush blanket he was clinging to (He’d never admit it, but he always needed to hug something to fall asleep), mumbling curses under his breath. His head was pounding, and he could taste the bitter tang of his magic on his tongue. At least that explained why his throat was so sore. 

He slowly opened his eyes, wincing at the bright sun, and ran his fingers along his mouth. They were stained black when he pulled them away. “God damn it...” He pushed himself to a sitting position, grabbing a spare sheet and wiping at his lips, then secured his mask in place.

He moved to his feet, stretching his arms up, working out the aches in his spine from sleeping on the hard roof. He grimaced as a particularly loud kid yelled, a wave a pain surging in his skull. It wasn’t uncommon for monsters to let their children play in the streets, especially in the slums. Killer just really wished someone would teach them not to scream so damn much. He was really tired of waking up with headaches and having to listen to them basically yell all day. It was like being repeatedly hit in the head with a hammer. 

Another shriek, but this time Killer froze instead of cringing in pain. It was a scream of fear, not joy. 

Killer pushed off his feet, nearly tripping over the edge as he looked over. If there had been other children, they all ran off, leaving only one left. It was a blue, bird-like monster, maybe about 10 or 11 years old, and they were pressing themselves to the ground, trembling as a royal guard stood over them. The guard had to be in their mid thirties, and they were covered in red fur with white spots. Anger bubbled in Killer; he may not like how loud the damn kids got, but that sure as hell didn’t mean he’d just stand around and watch one get hurt. He bolted to the pipe on the side of the building, sliding down and running to the child. The guard’s hand was raised, poised to strike, right as Killer kneeled in front of the blue monster, summoning a shielding bubble around them both. 

The guards hand came down against Killer’s magic, pulling back when it sparked against his fist. He snarled, eyes narrowing. “Get out of my way.”

The child was grasping at Killer’s arm from underneath his shawl, trying to hide behind him even though they were roughly the same size. Stupid height. He pulled on his cockiest grin, even though technically no one could see it. “Nah. Funny thing, I don’t like seeing innocent children get beat by a middle aged man twice their size.”

“She was disturbing the peace.” The older monster scowled. “The king has ordered we start being more forceful on you heathens, teach you some manners.”

Killer scoffed, feeling the child behind him press against his back. “Oh yeah, you’ll definitely get us to do that by literally abusing us.” He let his magic curl around his left hand, tingling and sparking until it formed into a sharp knife. “You know, maybe if you and your ‘king’ helped us get real houses and proper jobs, we wouldn’t be such, what was that word you used? Oh yeah, ‘heathens’” He hissed out the word, twirling the red knife in his hand. 

The red-furred monster grunted, looking from the knife to Killer’s face. “You can’t kill me.”

“Wanna bet?” The skeleton let out a surge of energy, sharpened bones forming around his shield, making the royal guard back up, nearly snagging his arm on one of the points. A crowd was forming around the three monsters, gawking at the scene. Everyone in the slums hated the people in the royal castle at least a little, they all made that clear through protests and graffiti, but it was rare for an actual guard to come to this part of town, let alone someone actually threaten one.

The guard in question just sneered, though there were beads of sweat forming on his brow, a look of panic in his eyes. He mumbled under his breath, straightening his back. “You won’t get away with this, it’s illegal to threaten a guard.”

“Last time I checked, it was also illegal for guards to hurt innocent monsters.” The monster didn’t give a snarky remark this time, just spat on the ground in front of Killer then turned, beginning to walk away.

The skeleton sighed, letting his magic relax and fizzle away. He stood up from his kneeling position, a cramp forming in his knees. The kid still held onto him from the dirty ground, looking up with wide eyes.

“You.. you saved me?” Their voice was soft, and Killer felt heat creep up the back of his neck, he shook his arm in an attempt to get the kid to let go. 

“Whatever kid, now let me go-” Fuck, people were moving in closer now, praising him, thanking him. He needed to get out of here, and fast. The bird seemed to have other ideas, simply holding on tighter. “I mean it kid, let me go.”

“Mama will want to thank you, she’ll bake you a pie! Or… or something- hey!” Killer pried the child’s hand off of his arm, ducking under the arms of the growing crowd. 

He could feel their eyes on him, making his metaphorical skin crawl. He squeezed his way in between houses and alleyways until he felt he’d gone far enough that no one should bother him. He didn’t regret helping the child. Truth be told, it pissed him off that the royal guards thought they could do anything to the monsters who lived in the slums and get away with it. He wouldn’t have minded actually turning that stupid guard into dust, as morbid as that sounded. He did, however, wish the three of them hadn’t made such a scene. He’d have to lay low for a while unit this dumb attention wore off. Eventually something more dramatic would pop up and capture everyone's attention and he’d be free to move around in peace again.

“Heya buddy.”

Killer startled at the voice, spinning to the figure who had suddenly appeared next to him - why hadn’t he been able to hear him approach? It was definitely the same skeleton he’d seen last night, a lazy grin resting on his skull.

“What do you want?” Killer flexed his hand, letting some magic roll off and wrap around his fingers, waiting for him to shape it into a solid form. Was this dude following him?!

The stranger held up his hands, his smile still in place while his eyebrows somewhat furrowed. “Woah, relax pal, I’m not here to fight you.”

“Then why are you here? Don’t know if you know this, but most of us in this part of two don’t take kindly to stalkers.” He spat out the word, looking the skeleton up and down. He certainly didn’t look very threatening, nor was he much taller than Killer. 

“I’m not stalking you, I just happened to be in the area when you put on that little show back there.” He gestured behind them with his skull towards the way Killer had come from. “Pretty brave thing you did back there.”

The man brought his hands down, stuffing them into the pockets of his trench coat. Begrudgingly, Killer let his magic fade away; as weird as this guy was, he obviously wasn’t a threat. “Anyone would have done it.” He shrugged, not comfortable with the praise.

The other monster hummed. “And yet I didn’t see anyone else step up and stand up for the kiddo. My name is Sans.”

“... Killer. Are you done yet? I have things to do.”

Sans laughed. “‘Killer’ name you got there bud.” The shorter of the two monsters bit back a groan. “But I actually wanted to talk to you about something important.” Well that certainly caught Killer’s attention, leaning in a bit closer to the other monster as he lowered his voice. “A rebellion is forming, it’s run by this guy named Error - pretty cool guy - and we’re set up in an old orphanage west of here. Me and a few other guys are supposed to be recruiters for the time being, and honestly, we could use more people like you.”

Killer raised an eyebrow. “More homeless people?”

“More people who aren’t afraid to stand up to the authorities; who aren’t afraid to fight for our cause.” 

The shorter of the two monsters rocked back on his heels. A rebellion would have a lot of people in it, and people were annoying as hell, but a chance to fight some stupid guards? A chance to make sure no other kids were abandoned by their stupid parents? Sign him the fuck up. Besides, it’d be fun to knock those damn guards down a few pegs.

“Yeah. Sure, I’ll join.” Sans’ smile grew, slipping a paper out of his jacket pocket.

“Here’s the address. I look forward to seeing ya there.” And suddenly he was gone. The skeleton quite literally disappeared before Killer could look up from the slip of paper. 

“A rebellion, huh?” Sans said the leader was named Error, the monster certainly had a weird ass name, and that’s coming from someone named Killer of all things. He guessed he should head to the address now, but he really needed a break from people. If the address isn't some kind of trick, it wasn’t exactly in the slums, but very close to it. If Killer was correct, it’d be about a half hour walk from his little hut to this ‘orphanage’, or whatever Sans had said it was. He could spend the rest of the day doing his own thing, and then at sunset he could begin making his way towards this supposed camp. If his walk there wasn’t delayed by any dumbass people, he should be able to make it there before it’s fully dark.

*****

“Looks like Sans wasn’t lying after all…” Killer mumbled, standing in front of the large metal gate that opened into a bustling camp. Even though he hadn’t gone in yet, he could tell people were moving around with boxes and supplies, setting up tents, talking to others. Light illuminated over the wall, and Killer was sure he could even hear some laughter. 

He needed to go in and find this Error person, finalize his recruitment or whatever the fuck it was that needed to be done. Yet, his feet were glued to the pavement, his body locked in place. He wasn’t scared, that couldn’t be it. Maybe he was just worried about being around too many people. Maybe-

A sturdy hand landed on his shoulder, making Killer jump. He whipped his head around, Sans was standing next to him, the same shit eating grin as before on his lips. “Hey, you made it.”

“You need to stop doing that man, for fuck’s sake.” The other skeleton just laughed.

“Just finished my shift. Come on, I’ll help you find Error” Sans patted his shoulder, moving past him and through the metal gate. Killer followed after him, feeling like a helpless child. He didn’t really know what to think of Sans so far. He seemed like a good guy, a horrible sense of humour, but a good guy nonetheless. Still, Killer’s soul was screaming at him to not trust anyone here. The last thing he needed was more cracks in his soul.

The two skeletons weaved through the groups of monsters, towards the largest tent. It was a pale red, a little off from the center of the courtyard; in front of it stood two more skeletons, one that was black with surprisingly bright red eye sockets, and the other was pure white, a jagged scar just below his eye. That one looked familiar to Killer, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on why. There was a white, plastic table in front of the two, and they were leaning against it, appearing to be talking about something. The dark skeleton’s eyes caught on Sans and him first, his back straightening. “Sans, you’re back.” Good god, he was tall - Killer guessed that he had to be about 6 feet tall. “Who’s this?”

“New recruit. Said his name is Killer.” Error stuck out his hand, and Killer took it, trying to ignore the fact that he bent down a little to do so. “The little guy-” He shot a glare up to Sans. “Nearly started a fight with a royal guard today while protecting a kid, figured he’d be a good addition to the team.” The shortest skeleton’s eyes caught on something under the other skeleton’s jacket, his body going rigid. 

It was a guard’s uniform. That explained why he looked so damn familiar: it was Cross, the stupid Prince’s “personal guard”

Killer yanked his hand away, Error’s eyebrows shooting up. “You let a fucking guard in here?!”

Cross’s eyes narrowed, matching the new monster’s glare. “I’m not one of them anymore.”

“Then why are you still wearing that stupid uniform?”

“That's enough!” Error let out a deep sigh, rubbing his temple. “No fighting, understood?” Killer grunted, giving a short nod. “I’ve already made it clear what will happen to Cross here if he stabs us in the back, besides, having someone who used to work in the castle could be used to our advantage.”

“Why? You planning on breaking into the literal castle or something?” Killer crossed his arms, suddenly feeling defensive. He didn’t like the fact there was someone who had been so close to the royals on the rebels team, but the tall skeleton did have a point.

Sans shot a finger gun at him, leaning against a crate. “Exactly the plan, little buddy.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“The plan is to first do a few protests outside of the castle, we have blueprints of the interior already, but we need to find a good way to get into the castle undetected.

Killer perked up a bit, a spark of confidence blooming in his chest. “I’m good at getting in and out of small places. And climbing. If we could find a vent or something on the side of the building, I could squeeze through.”

Error hummed, kneeled and pulled a rolled up piece of paper from under the plastic table. Rolling the paper open on the flat surface of the table, he leaned forward. “As far as I can tell, the ductwork for the castle’s heating system isn’t on here for some reason.” He pointed to the detailed blueprints of the castle. “But if we distracted everyone, you think you’d be able to find an opening?”

“Theoretically, yeah.” Killer scanned the blueprints. “But why do you even want to get in so bad?”

“Are we seriously going to let the child join?” Cross mumbled, glowering at the smaller man.

The skeleton flipped him off. “I’m 23, asshole.”

“Oh great, I can tell you two are going to get along so well.” The black skeleton rolled his eyes. “And yes, just like you, Cross, he could be useful.” He pointed to a tower on the blueprint, attention turning to Killer. “My fiance was kidnapped by the king before all this happened.” A pang of jealousy hit the smaller man like a truck, but he quickly pushed the feeling down. “Cross here has been through every inch of the castle except this tower. Apparently no one but the king, prince, and prince’s caretaker is allowed up there, and Cross didn’t see Ink anywhere else. So he has to be here.”

Sans butted in, pressing a hand to his ribcage above where his soul is. “All this for love, even Cross is here because he’s deeply in love with the prince who’s been brainwashed by the evil, evil king. Sooo romantic.” Error gave the over dramatic skeleton a deadpan look, while Cross’s cheeks turned a light purple. Killer just scoffed, ignoring the jealous ache in his soul. He didn’t need anything like love, he’d gotten by just fine without it until now.

“So, what? After you get your partner back, are you just going to give up on all this? Go back to living your happy, suburban life?”

Error paused, taking a moment to think before answering Killer’s question. “No. I’ve seen too many fucked up things that were caused by King Gaster’s rule to suddenly walk away from all this after I get Ink back. I’m in it till the end.” 

“So are we.” Sans rested his arm on top of Killer’s skull, who batted him away with annoyance. “Awww, we’re like one big family!”

“I will never be in a family with him.” The masked skeleton thrusted his thumb at Cross.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem is that people like you have done literally nothing good for anyone in the slums. While you all get to live in your pretty castle, we’re all stuck out here in the cold; suffering and dreading every new day!”

“That’s not my fault!”

Error slammed his fist against the table. “I thought I said no fighting? I don’t care if you see us as a family or not, we’re still a team and we all need to act like it. So put your petty differences aside and stop acting like children! Am I understood?”

Both monsters nodded, mumbling soft ‘yes’s, resulting in the black skeleton shaking his skull softly. “Back to what I was saying. We’re already getting ready for the first protest, signs and routes are being planned out. It’s already been two months since Ink went missing, and I don’t want him stuck in there for much longer.”

“We need to pace ourselves though.” Cross pressed a hand onto the table, eyeing the blueprints. “If we don’t space out our demonstrations, the royal guard will be ready for us each time we strike. If we take time between each demonstration, we’ll be more likely to catch them off guard. The more unpredictable we are, the better.” 

“Ink could be getting hurt in there, and you want me to-”

“I want you to be logical about this. You won’t be able to help him if we all get locked up too.” Cross held Error’s gaze, eyes concentrated and steady. “I know how the guard works, all attacks and defenses are planned on statistics. If we show up when they aren’t expecting us, they won’t have a solid plan. They’ll be weaker.” The darker monster looked away, hand clasping the locket around his neck. Killer couldn’t help but wonder what significance it held for Error. 

“... You’re right. We need to be level headed and plan this right.”

“Look, I know you just want to get Ink out of there, trust me, if I could I’d charge through the doors right next to you and get Dream the hell out of there. But they’re depending on us, so we need to make sure we don’t fuck this up.” Cross placed a hand on the slightly taller monster’s shoulder.

Error pushed the hand away, his hands falling to his sides. “I think that’s enough planning for tonight. Killer, if you want to stay on the grounds, there are still some open rooms in the orphanage. Just write your name under which room you want in the book on the table right inside the lobby. Or go home, doesn’t matter to me.” He rolled up the blueprints again, pushing them back under the table and then sinking into his tent without another word. 

“Poor guy. Apparently he and his boyfriend, Ink, have been together for over 10 years, so this must be so hard for him.” Sans half whispered. Killer ignored him, turning towards the double doors to the orphanage. Sure, he’d gotten used to living in a shack on the roof of an old building, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to turn down an actual room, with an actual bed. 

After signing his name messily in the notebook Error told him about, he moved silently to his new room, flopping onto the bed as soon as the door was closed. It was old and a bit dirty, and creaked when he moved, but it felt like heaven after sleeping on a hard, metal roof for so many years.

He ended up passing out before he could even take off his mask, his body instinctively wrapping around one of the old pillows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely loved writing this chapter, I love my sassy gremlin son 
> 
> On a more serious note, my heart goes out to all black individuals facing racism. It's unfair and so so wrong, and I can't express how proud I am of our generation fighting back. Black lives matter


	6. ~Chapter 6~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> !Trigger warning: Self harm!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/B5l28mWAbPj/?igshid=8pwo38p4b4fh) or [Tumblr](https://fandomartist1273.tumblr.com/post/189150992336/nisha-i-really-wanted-to-make-a-fanchild-soooo)

“Hey Ink?”

The skeleton in question looked up from the paper he was sketching on, eyelights landing on the only other monster in the room: Nightmare. The younger monster was watching him curiously from his sprawled out spot on the carpeted ground, the book he had been reading still open in front of him.

Ink had been locked up in this dreadful room for about three months now, and it was still something that made his “skin” crawl. Not to mention finding out the other prince was still alive, and not dead like everyone had been told - who wasn't evil either. If anything the other monster was just really awkward and shy, though he did seem to do his best to be warm and friendly to Ink. Maybe he was just happy to not be alone anymore. 

“Yeah?” Ink set down his pencil, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. He’d had another emotionless moment - what was he supposed to call them? Attacks, maybe? - a few minutes ago; hence the reason he was now drawing Error on a scrap piece of paper. A small fear was nagging at him that if he didn’t immediately do something that reminded him of his fiance afterwards, he’d forget about him. 

“...What was he like?” Nightmare sat up, pointing at Ink’s messy drawing. “You haven’t really talked about him - uh, I know it might be h-hard for you to talk about it though, so it’s fine if you don’t want to! It’s just- um, I-I…”

Ink waved him to come closer, a tired smile on his lips. He knew he had been extremely hard on Nightmare for the first few weeks; always pushing him away and refusing to talk to him even though it was obvious the monster just wanted a friend. Ink was trying to be more open now that he realized he could be stuck in this hell hole for a while. His company had been nice, the prince turned out to be pretty talkative when talking about things he liked. “It’s fine, really. I miss him a lot but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to brag about how great he is.” The younger monster scooted next to him, sitting cross legged. “I told you his name at least, right?”

Nightmare nodded. “You said it was Error.”

“Right, so… hm, where to start.” Ink tapped his chin, thinking for a moment. “We first met when we were kids. His family moved in next door to my mom and I, and we were in the same class. We clicked immediately, and became best friends. When I realized I was gay, he helped me deal with the bullying. … I was actually bullied a lot, but Error was always there to help me…” He shook his head, swallowing hard. As nice as Nightmare was, he wasn’t comfortable spilling both his and Error’s mental problems just like that. “Anyways, after we started high school it didn’t take me long to develop a crush on him. And I mean, who could blame me? Tall, handsome, super sweet. Oh and you should see him with his reading glasses, it’s adorable!” 

Nightmare giggled. “He sounds wonderful.”

“He is.” Ink sighed, heat forming on his cheeks. “We didn’t start dating until our last year of school, and we’ve been together ever since. … Our wedding was actually supposed to be last month.” His gaze fell to the ring still on his finger. He had refused to take it off since waking up here in fear of losing it. 

“Oh.. I’m sorry...”

Ink blinked away his growing tears, ignoring the statement. “Being locked in here makes it impossible to date, but you must have some kind of fantasy of what you want, yeah?” Nightmare blushed, looking away. “Oooooh, so you do. Spill it!”

“Well… my views on romance probably aren’t super realistic, since all I have to base them on is the books in here and your strangely perfect story, but..” He grinned to himself, falling backwards onto the ground. “I imagine they’re super romantic, the kind of person who buys flowers and chocolates for their anniversaries. And they help elderly people and children across the street, oh! They’d definitely be a family person! We could have a big family and- ah, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Ink laughed. “Well you definitely know what you want.” He couldn’t help but feel bad for the younger monster. Being locked up for half his life is really going to make it hard for him when he finally gets out. Plus he’s far too trusting and naive. Still, Ink didn’t want to crush his little dreams. “I’m sure you’ll meet them one day.”

“Oh, I do hope so. I just wonder what their name will be…”

******

Killer groaned, glaring at the poster board and permanent markers in front of him like they had just murdered his whole family. “I didn’t join this to do fucking crafts.”

Sitting on the grass beside him, Sans hummed. “Come on buddy, these posters will help with the protests. ‘Hue’ don’t even have to do much, just write a few words.” Killer turned his glare to him, grabbing the marker and throwing it at the other monster's skull. Sans laughed when it bounced off, landing a few feet away in the grass. 

“Can’t you two be serious for five minutes.” Cross said with a groan, focusing on glueing his poster board to a wooden pole. Killer just snorted.

“Can you not be a complete asshole for five minutes?”

“Go fuck yourself”

“You two are going to drive me insane.” Error sat on the ground next to Sans, dark circles were starting to form under his eye sockets. “Haven’t I told you to cut it out already?” 

The smallest skeleton ignored him, leaning back and laying in the grass. “You look tired.” 

“Yeah, well, running something like this isn’t easy.” He sighed, placing a hand to his temple. “Is everything ready for tomorrow?”

It had been a month since Killer joined, and truly, nothing super eventful had happened yet. He had expected this to be action heavy, fight-for-your-life kind of shit, but the most he had done was make dumb signs and posters. At least tomorrow was their first real protest, and Killer had the most important job: finding a vent into the castle. It was a bit stressful, but he knew he’d be able to do it. He had been breaking in and out of buildings since he was ten.

“Yes, only somebody won’t suck up his ego and make a goddamn sign like the rest of us.” Cross shot a look at Killer, who responded by giving him the finger. 

Error rolled his eyes. “I’m ignoring the last part because I really don’t have the energy to deal with either of your guys’ bullshit. Have you talked to each group about their routes?”

Error had divided everyone into four groups to keep better track of them: he was in charge of group one, Cross had group two, group three was led by Sans (Killer didn’t understand that one, the guy seemed far too childish to be a leader, but it wasn’t his choice so he hadn’t said anything.) and somebody named Zin was leading group four. Killer hadn’t met Zin yet, but apparently Error used to work with them before all this happened. The main idea was that each group would come from a different area to spread out the guards - typically a better strategy for battle, but Cross and Error thought it’d be a good idea to get people used to it before their lives are in actual danger. 

“Yes, again, and all of us know the way,” Cross looked at Sans skeptically. “Right?” 

The laidback skeleton snorted, flashing his signature grin. “Yup, I remember pal. No need to worry about me.”

“Yeah, well, your whole… relaxed, ‘I don’t give a shit’ vibe makes me worry. A lot.” 

“He’s fine Cross.” Error cut in, ideally picking at the grass. “He’s proven that he’s responsible, and need I remind you that he’s literally the oldest one here?”

Sans barked out a laugh. “Ha, he pulled the age card!”

Cross huffed, standing up, his now finished sign left forgotten on the ground. “Whatever. I’m going to my room.”

Killer watched the monster leave, glaring at his back. “He can’t see you Killer, give it a rest.” Error gave him a tired look. “Why can’t you two just get along?”

“He's a guard.”

“Was a guard. He hates the King as much as any of us.”

“Yeah, only because he cockblocked him.”

“Woah there buddy-” Sans whistles. “That’s not very kid friendly of you to say.”

The smaller skeleton rolled his eyes. “Yeah well, I’m not wrong. The only reason he’s here is because the King ‘brainwashed’ the Prince. How do we even know that he’s not lying?”

“Because I trust him, so far he’s given us literally no reason not to. And the guy obviously loves Prince Dream, that's why he’s here. I’m here because of my love for Ink. Hell, even Sans is here for family love.” Error paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Maybe if you took that stick out of your ass and stopped seeing love as some kind of big curse, you’d understand.”

Killer stiffened, a painful wave washing over his soul like pins and needles. He wanted to yell back, tell him how wrong he was, how there was nothing wrong with him. But he knew Error had a point, not about the stick up his ass part, but definitely the part about love. He really didn’t understand it, he didn’t think he ever would. It’d been years since he saw love as a good thing, and here he was, surrounded by people who cherished the feeling.

Killer knew he’d never feel that, and he couldn’t stop the jealousy and pain that came with that realization. 

He stood up, walking away, deciding that was better than screaming and drawing attention to them. Besides, he suddenly felt exhausted. He heard Sans say something to the black skeleton as he left, something about going ‘too far’. 

Killer ignored them.

*****

Ink screamed, eye sockets shooting open as he’s violently pulled out of his nightmare. His body sprung up, his knees pulled to his chest. He was hyperventilating, desperately pulling at his blanket. Usually if he had a nightmare, Error would be there to comfort him, but obviously he couldn’t be there anymore. Ink was slowly getting less and less sleep because of the nightmares and they ended the same way every time.

Like a switch, his panic and fear left him, leaving him numb, empty. His thick, black tears still flowed, and Nightmare was staring worriedly from across the room. “Are you ok…?”

Ink didn’t answer, standing up. He was sick and tired of this, of losing his feelings, of feeling so numb. He staggered to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him as Nightmare protested, asking repeatedly what he was doing. The smaller room was only lit by a few candles; which was probably a fire hazard, but Ink wouldn’t be surprised if everything in the castle had fire resistance magic cast on it. Or maybe the flames were harmless magic. He watched himself in the mirror, the light from the possibly fake candles shining on his bones. 

He didn’t even look like the same monster anymore; there were dark bags under his eyes, and the clothes Nightmare had given him were far too big. He had pinned a older blanket around his shoulders and at the time it had helped him feel calmer and more relaxed, now it just looked stupid. If Error even did somehow find him in this hell hole, and manage to get him out, would he even recognize him? 

Would he still love him?

Without thinking twice, Ink let his magic form into a sharpened bone in his hand, slowly bringing the point to his left wrist. 

He let the sharp bone glide across his ulna and radius, a bead of blood rolling down and falling to the ground. The air felt cold against the cut, in his current state it was almost addicting. The metallic smell, the slow drip to the ground. Ink slowly made another cut. And another, and another. The physical pain took away some of the numbness, he could actually feel this after all.

Eventually, he did snap out of it, his emotions crashing down on him, knocking his breath away. He pushed off the ground, his magic disappearing in his panic, his hands shaking and he looked at what he’d done; eight clean, bloody cuts looked back up at him, his stomach churning. He choked out a sob, stumbling backwards and grabbing onto the wall for support.

Error would hate him.

God, what had he been thinking?! He knew what Error had gone through when they were teenagers, why wouldn’t he be angry that Ink did this to himself? 

“Ink?!” He’d nearly forgotten about Nightmare in the other room. More tears fell from his eye sockets, most definitely staining his cheeks more. He didn’t even try to answer, knowing his voice would waver or be completely drowned out by his tears. “What’s going on in there? Are you alright?!”

Ink slowly moved to the door, unlocking it and letting it swing open. He stared at the ground in shame as Nightmare took him in, his blue and purple eyelights on his still bloody arm. “... I didn’t mean to, I… I wasn’t thinking… ”

The prince slowly reached a hand out, placing it on Ink’s shoulder - he was visibly shaking, though Ink couldn’t blame him. Despite being two years younger than Ink, Nightmare was still a few inches taller (much to Ink’s annoyance), and he couldn’t help but feel tiny next to the Prince like this.

Nightmare took a deep breath, trying to look calm despite the way his hand trembled on the other monster’s shoulder. “... Go sit down. Press something to… to the cuts. I’ll call Bethenny.”

Ink snorted, letting the younger skeleton guide him to his makeshift bed. “‘Call Bethenny’? What are you going to do, scream until she hears you?” Nightmare didn’t answer, gently pushing onto the sheets. “She won’t be able to hear you. There’s no point, anyways…”

“Nonsense.” He walked to the iron door, pushing aside a stack of books. Installed into the wall was a small, round button. “Father had this made so that I could call her if something went wrong. Faux comfort, I suppose.” Nightmare pushed the button with a small click. “I haven’t used it since I was young, hopefully it still works- I said to put pressure on the wound, Ink.”

With a sigh, he did as he was told. “You can definitely tell you were supposed to be a king.”

“I wasn’t, I always knew Dream would be crowned before me.” He gave a small smile, sinking to the floor next to Ink, putting his hand next to Ink’s. “Mama and Papa - my real parents, not Gaster - taught us what to do in high stress situations, heh, neither of us used that information when we were little though.” 

“...You must miss them.”

“Of course I do, but… I deserve this. All of it. I made a mistake, and I must atone for that.” His eyes dropped to the shackles on his wrists. “I don’t like this, but I suppose no one is going to like punishments.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong though! At least from what you and Bethenny have told me, you have an illness, you-” Nightmare flinched away, eyes widening. “... Sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“... It’s alright, this shouldn’t be about me anyways. Are you sure you’re ok? This is-” The door suddenly whooshed open, Bethenny looked frantic as her eyes landing on the two boys. 

“What ever happened?” The pink haired woman gasped, noticing the blood. “Oh, deary, are you alright?” Nightmare scooted away, the human taking a seat on the ground. She pulled bandages out of her apron pocket - did she always have those there? Why was she even still wearing her uniform in the first place? - and pulled the now stained blanket away. “Nightmare, go wet a cloth in the bathroom please.”

The younger monster got up without question, quickly moving to the washroom; Ink heard him gasp when he saw the blood still splattered over the tiles. He watched the ground and Bethenny looked over his cuts, shame building in his chest. “I’m sorry, I… I don’t know what I was thinking, everything was… dull.” The human shushed him softly, pulling him into a gentle hug.

It made Ink freeze, a memory of his mother forming in his mind - he’d never noticed how similar Bethenny was to her before now. The thought alone brought him back to tears, clinging to the woman tightly, her hand rubbing small circles along his spine. “You don’t need to explain yourself, I understand that all of this is extremely hard for you.” Through his tears, Ink noticed Nightmare watching from the bathroom door, trying to avoid staring. A sob ripped though his throat as Ink buried his face into Bethenny’s shoulder.

“I just want him back, I-I wanna be normal again..”

“I know sweetie, I know…” Her voice was low and soothing, gently rocking side to side, letting the skeleton cry into the fabric of her clothes. “Don’t lose hope though… do you want to know what I heard?”

Ink sniffed loudly, nodding.

“I heard a rebellion is forming on the edge of town, and gossip says it’s run by a dark skeleton who uses the alias ‘The glitch’” She cupped his skull, whipping his tears.

“‘The glitch’..? That’s… that’s Error’s nickname! I used to call him that to tease him all the time! Do you think it could really be him??” Ink sniffed again, pulling away and rubbing his eyes.

“I think there’s certainly a chance that it is.” She beckoned Nightmare closer, taking the still dripping washcloth from his still shaking hands. “It’s all just rumours for now, but let’s make this our little secret.” She winked, dabbing Ink’s cuts.

He softly hissed in pain, but kept his smile up. “Who would we tell? There’s only us three in here.”

“I suppose that is true.”

The conversation faded after that, but Ink’s thoughts were running a mile a minute as the human gently cleaned his arm. It had to be Error, it can’t just be a coincidence that the leader's alias is the exact same as the childhood nickname. Besides, it wouldn’t surprise Ink if Error reacted that way - he’s always been so damn protective, though this is… extreme. He was grateful, of course, the only thing he wanted was to be back with his Error, but a rebellion could get dangerous. What if Error was dusted before he’s able to save Ink?! Plus, he couldn’t stop the worry nipping at the back of his mind that it’s not Error, that it’s just some random monster and all of this has nothing to do with the short skeleton, or maybe, if it really is his finance, what if Error doesn’t love him after he sees what Ink has done? What he’s become?

The small monster took a deep breath, slowly counting to 10 to silence his anxiety. He watched as Bethenny carefully bandaged his lower arm, focusing on her words from before: don’t lose hope.

He couldn’t control the future, so for now he’ll try to just focus on hoping that everything will be ok.

That being said, he knew it wasn’t going to be easy. The still fresh cuts on his ulna and radius were proof of that.

*****

“Remember, you are not to engage with any guards you see.” Error’s voice carried surprisingly well over the large group of monsters in front of him. He was standing on a small, wooden box, which, given his height, probably wasn’t necessary but Sans had insisted he use it anyways. “My group and group three will walk together for the first half, then we split into two, same with group two and four. Remember who your leader is! We’re not babysitters, you’re all grown adults, don’t make us responsible for you if you wander off or get lost. Does everyone understand?” He watched the crowd, seeing multiple monsters nod before hopping off the crate. 

It took a few more minutes to get everyone organized before he and Sans headed out with their respective groups; Cross and Zin were instructed to leave 5 minutes after them. They started off silently marching, but as they slowly entered more populated areas, monsters in the crowd started chanting “Not my King! Not my King!” Error wouldn’t lie and say that having all these people behind him didn’t make him feel powerful; even though his anxiety was whispering in his ear about just how many people were watching him now, of how many things that could go wrong.

“Hey.” Sans nudged his arm with his elbow, snapping Error out of his thoughts. “You ok? You seem kinda spacey today.”

“I’m fine, just kinda tired. Didn’t get that much sleep last night, probably just stress.” He wasn’t necessarily lying, he had woken up around 3 in the morning and been unable to fall back asleep. Something had just felt wrong, like he needed to fix something.

The shorter monster flashed him a smile. “You worry too much buddy, you’re doing a great job at this. Plus, I know we’ll get Ink back. I feel it in my bones.”

A groan rose up between them, and Error looked down to find Killer walking between them (he’s so short, Error was honestly relieved the poor guy hadn’t been trampled.) “Again with the shitty jokes? Isn’t this supposed to be serious?”

Honestly, Error wasn’t sure if he liked the small monster or not. He was happy that the guy was helping them, he was grateful to everyone that joined, but it was obvious Killer had gone through things that have skewed how he sees things. Love and relationships being the main one. He definitely pitied the guy, but he couldn’t find a good way to really connect with him. At least he seemed to have pretty good morals.

“Just trying to lighten the mood little buddy.” Killer groaned again. 

“We’re getting close to the split off point.” Sans nodded, adjusting the homemade sign on his shoulder. “Wait until my signal before turning back towards the camp.” 

“Roger that Cap’n”

“And Killer,” The skeleton in question looked up at Error. “You know what you need to do?”

“Yup, it’s not like you’ve told me a hundred times.” Noticing how Error stiffened, Killer sighed, softening his tone. “Stay out of sight, and come back to you as soon as I find a safe way in. We’re all ready.”

The black skeleton took a deep breath, attempting to calm his nerves a bit. “Good. Let’s do this then.”

*****

Dream watched as a crowd of people chanted outside the castle walls from the glass doors on the second floor. He was in the main sitting area, and these doors lead out to a decorated balcony that hadn’t been used in months. 

The monsters all looked so angry, yet his father had already told him multiple times not to worry. He had noticed the king, his father, had been acting differently recently as well, more stern, and he’d stopped letting Dream talk to any reporters, or even leave the castle. He claimed it was because he wanted the prince to be able to focus completely on his work, but Dream suspected there was more to it than that. 

That wasn’t the only thing making the young monster worry. Recently he’d been feeling off, not in pain, but something felt out of place, like he’d lost something. His mind always wandered to that strange new guard he’d seen over three months ago whenever he focused on the feeling, but he couldn’t wrap his head around the reason why. Had he been too hard on the monster? No, that couldn’t be it, father had taught him that it was best to be stern with the staff if they’ve done something wrong. Dream had tried to bring it up with Dr. Alphys, yet she had brushed him off, ending the conversation suspiciously fast and then running off.

Perhaps he wouldn’t be so worried about the feeling and lingering thoughts if they didn’t cause his soul to throb in pain. 

Glancing around to make sure no one was around - that was another thing that had been strange in the past few months, Bethenny wasn’t around as often - then carefully unlocked the clear doors, stepping out into the fresh air. Leaning over the ledge, to get a better look at the protesting monsters, his eyelights suddenly latched onto someone within the crowd.

The guard from before.

Cross!

Dream suddenly gasped, clutching his chest as he stumbled back from the railing. It felt like he had just been stabbed in the soul, the pain pulsing throughout his body. Why did he know that name? And why did he think it when he had seen the guard?! A headache was forming behind his sockets as he steadied his legs, taking deep breaths. The pain was slowly fading away, but Dream couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew that guard, that he was important to him for some reason.

That his name was Cross. 

He must be losing his mind, none of this made sense. Unless…

Dream jumped as a hand was placed on his shoulder, his skull spinning to find Gaster standing next to him.

“I believe I told you to stay inside.”

The Prince nodded, pulling a rather forced smile to his lips. “That you did, father. My apologies, I simply came out to get a better look at the protestors. You caught me just as I was about to go back inside.”

The king raised an eyebrow, seeming to analyze his son; Dream prayed that he nervousness wasn’t showing. After a minute, Gaster spoke up again. “Very well. However, you should not bother yourself with these petty riots. You have more important things to do.”

The Prince bit his tongue to stop himself from correcting his father on how these most certainly were not riots. At least, not yet. “Understood. I shall be in my room if you need me.”

He slipped past the taller monster, moving quickly through the halls with his head down. Was he going insane? There was no way he could actually know that guard.

After all, he’d surely remember that, wouldn’t he?

*****

Pressing his small body against the ground between two bushes, Killer watched as a guard passed him. He took in slow, steady breaths until he was sure the monster was out of sight, then he slowly stood back up, making sure to stay close to the wall. 

There weren’t as many royal guards patrolling this part of the castle as he had assumed there would be. His guess was that the groups of protestors were keeping them preoccupied. He wasn’t complaining though, it did make this a lot easier for him.

He would, however, be complaining loudly about how many goddamn leaves were getting stuck between his bones.

With a soft grunt, he kneeled down, running his fingers over the wall of the castle. No vent. Cursing softly to himself, he looked over his shoulder. He was starting to feel uneasy, he didn’t want to leave Error and the others protesting for too long. Who knows what the guards might do?

Cross had told everyone in the camp that they would never attack unarmed citizens, but there was no way Killer could believe that after seeing what happens in the slums almost every day. None - or more accurately, most - of the guards didn’t give two shits about the monsters living in BlightView. Killer would still claim not to like anyone in the resistance camp that much, but he really didn’t want anyone getting hurt during something that’s supposed to be peaceful. 

Edging farther along the brick wall, Killer misplaced his foot, landing hard on the dirt ground. He hissed his pain, a stick coming dangerously close to entering his eye. Killer froze then, body becoming stiff as he waited and listened for any approaching footsteps. After he was sure no was coming, he slowly sat up and brought his hand to his face when he could feel something cool and wet rolling down his cheek. Blood.

“Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw…” He had been guessing it would just be his stupid magic acting up again, though the fact that his eyesockets weren’t aching should have been a dead give a way that that wasn’t the case this time. He dreaded having to tell the others that he scratched himself with a stick of all things. At least it shouldn’t leave a scar.

Something shiny caught the corner of his eye, and his eyebrows shot up when he turned his skull.

There beside him was a small vent, nailed securely to the wall. 

*****

Sans’ voice was starting to go hoarse from all the chanting, and he wondered briefly how he’d explain to Asgore how he lost his voice. Maybe he could convince him that he had caught a cold.

He and his group had been going at this for about an hour now, and to his surprise, no one seemed to be getting tired. It was a good sign, it meant everyone here was dedicated to the cause. It did make Sans worry about Killer a bit; the little monster was certainly confident with his skills, but there was still a small chance he could get caught. Finding a way to break into a castle is a lot different than just going into a store. 

And if he was caught… well, Sans didn’t know what exactly they’d do to him, but he’d certainly get thrown into the dungeon. 

Sans’ attention was pulled to the side, where a straight line of guards were marching to stand in front of the group. Reinforcements. He didn’t really see the need for that, it wasn’t like any of them were going to attack the uniformed monsters but-

Sans froze, his tongue going limp in his mouth, his whole world seeming to come to a stop. Along the new line of guards was Papyrus, his little brother.

The same little brother he hadn’t talked to, or seen, in years. 

He’d definitely had a growth spurt since the last time he’d seen him, he had to be 6 feet tall, but Sans should have guessed that that would happen; Papyrus had always been taller than others his age. He looked strange in the royal uniform, and the fact that the suit only had three clips must have signified that he was only a level lower than the Captain Sans has seen on TV. The taller skeleton had also tied a red scarf on his left arm, near his shoulder.

Sans recognized it immediately. 

That scarf - now torn and well worn - had been a gift from Toriel and Asgore, they’d given it to the young monster during their first Christmas with the Dreemurr’s. The usually lazy skeleton’s soul pounded in his rib cage, screaming at him to grab his brother and make a run for it. But he knew, deep down, Papyrus wouldn’t understand the rebellion. Still, he needed to do something.

He pushed his way through the crowd, luckily no one got mad and yelled at him for doing so, until he was in the front, standing right infront of his brother. It took a moment, but Papyrus’s eyes eventually landed on Sans, they widened in shock and a look of horror fell onto his features.

The shorter monster pulled up his fake smile - one that he’d had years to practice, and he was sure could fool anyone - and shoved his free hand into his jacket pocket. “Hey bro, long time no see, huh?”

“Sans?! What are you doing here?” He wanted to laugh and cry, his brother sounded exactly the same as he remembered.

He gestured nonchalantly at the sign perched on his shoulder. “Supporting a good cause.” He lowered his voice. “Unlike you.” 

Small orange tears formed in the corner of Papyrus’s eye sockets, and Sans immediately regretted his words. He knew it wasn’t his brother's fault that he believed the royals were good, that was what they were all taught to believe, after all. “Brother…” The younger skeleton suddenly stiffened his shoulders, taking on a new persona that Sans didn’t recognize. He remembered his brother as someone full of smiles and joy and optimism, a little naive but with good intentions. This new side of Papyrus was the exact opposite, completely serious, and hard, a frown set into his skull. “I’m sorry that you feel that way, but I can see there will be no changing your mind.” A flash of pain crossed his features. “I’m afraid to inform you of this, but our familial bond won’t get in the way of me doing my job.”

Sans flinched. He’d seen it coming, yet it still hurt to see his brother so cold to him. “Fine, it won’t stop me from doing what’s right either.” In his pocket, his phone buzzed three times. Error’s signal. He turned on his heel without another word to his younger brother, pulling a whistle from his pocket - Error had given all the leaders one - and blew into it twice, signaling to everyone that it was time to head back.

He pushed the thought of Papyrus out of his skull as he began the walk back to the orphanage, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. Both of them had made their choices and chosen their sides, there was no point in fretting over it. He had more important things to think about.

Killer had found a safe way into the castle.

It was time to start planning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are really starting to kick up plot wise now :3 if y'all have any predictions on what's gonna happen feel free to leave them in the comments, I'd love to hear your thoughts


	7. ~Chapter 7~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/B5l28mWAbPj/?igshid=8pwo38p4b4fh) or [Tumblr](https://fandomartist1273.tumblr.com/post/189150992336/nisha-i-really-wanted-to-make-a-fanchild-soooo)

The old wooden door creaked as Sans slowly opened it, hoping no one in the dark house had woken up and heard him. Once it was fully closed and locked behind him, he exhaled the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, his shoulders relaxing.

It was well after 2 am, and Sans was absolutely exhausted. It was like he had been getting even less sleep since joining the rebellion - especially after his encounter with Papyrus two months ago. He couldn’t get the look on Papyrus’ face out of his head. He’d never seen Papyrus like that, and it made Sans feel uneasy. Truth be told, it scared him. One of the reasons he joined was to get his brother back, but it turned out that task would be much harder than he had originally thought. Maybe even impossible.

He shook his skull, his hand coming up to cradle his forehead. He was regretting not having a smoke before coming inside. Not only did this shit keep coming back to cloud up his thoughts, today hadn’t been an easy day.

Right after the first protest, there hadn’t been any talk about when the next one would be, everyone was more or less celebrating and having fun. It had been nice to see so many people laughing, and little Killer had gotten more than a few compliments on his job well done (which had obviously made the younger skeleton uncomfortable, considering how he slipped away to his room shortly later). A few monsters had even brought out some alcohol, leading to multiple people getting drunk off their asses. Strangely, Sans couldn’t remember seeing Error during that time, maybe he’d gone off to get some sleep?

That aside, no real planning to break Ink out was done until today, and even calling it “planning” was a stretch. There had been a few small protests here and there throughout the city, but Error was getting antsy, and he wanted to do it as soon as possible. He suggested doing it next week, which prompted Cross to say they should wait one more month. “We can’t rush this, Error” Sans remembered him saying. “Especially since we’re literally breaking into the castle this time, the more we catch them off guard, the better.” This led to Error snapping at him, and eventually led to a full blown argument. Eventually Sans and Killer were able to calm both of them down - though Killer wasn’t very happy about having to help - and Error begrudgingly agreed to wait one more month. 

The rest of the day felt like a blur, but keeping up his constant smile was starting to strain him. Luckly, he was home now and could relax, at least for a few hours.

Or not.

The kitchen light flicked on, startling Sans. Chara, still in her pajamas, stood next to the lightswitch, arms crossed and leaning against the wall. “Dad was worried about you, you know.” Her blood red eyes were narrowed, the fingers on her right hand twitching. A nervous tick.

“Was he?” Sans brought up his smile, forced it through his exhaustion. Hopefully it was still somewhat believable. “I’ll talk to him in the morning, it was my fault anyways. Lost track of time with some buddies.”

“You don’t have friends like that.” The younger human pushed off the wall, walking closer to him. “Tell me the truth, Sans.” 

“I have friends.” The skeleton mumbled, using a hand to ruffle her hair. “It’s late and you should sleep, come on.”

“I know you joined it.” He froze as his smile fell, his soul suddenly beating against his ribcage. “The rebellion. Revolution. Whatever the hell you want to call it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Chara huffed, grabbing onto his arm before he got a chance to walk away. “I’ve just been busy.” She pulled out her phone, swiping and tapping it before handing it to the older monster.

“Explain this then.” On the small screen was a video of Sans in front of Papyrus, it was obvious they were talking but whoever had filmed this was too far away to hear what they were saying (the chanting didn’t help either). Sans cursed himself - it hadn’t even occurred to him that videos and photos would be all over the media. At least Asgore wasn’t online often, but if this ever got on the news… “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Language.” She smacked his arm. “And you weren't supposed to find out about this, where did you find this video?”

“YouTube.” She rolled her eyes. “Everyone at school kept telling me about it. ‘It looks like your brothers’ this and ‘Chara, have you seen the video? Your brother’s famous’ that. If Frisk and dad find out-” 

“They’re not going to find out.” Sans pushed her hand away, adjusting his jacket. He had to admit, Chara knowing about this really put a wrench in his plan. “You weren’t supposed to find out either.”

“What, were you just going to hide that from us?!”

“Keep your voice down.” He hissed, putting a finger to his lips. “And yes, that was literally my whole plan. But it doesn’t matter. I’m an adult, it’s not like you or dad could stop me.”

“He’s going to be pissed though.”

“Hence why I hid it, sherlock.” The older monster sighed, trying to calm himself. He knew Chara was just worried - and it was a bit annoying, if he was being honest - but he needed to keep a level head. She was still a child, after all. “Look, it’s late, I’m tired. We can talk about this whole thing in the morning.”

Chara shuffled her feet, her thumb rubbing against the side of her phone. “I--”

“What’s going on down here?” 

Both siblings' heads turned to the stairs where a confused Asgore stood in his “Best Goat Dad” pajamas, Frisk holding onto the hem of the shirt, rubbing their eyes. Chara tried to smile innocently, shoving her phone into her pocket. She technically wasn’t supposed to use it after 10:30 “Dad? Why are you awake?” 

“I should be asking you two the same thing.” The goat monster’s eyes flickered to Sans. “When did you get home?” 

“Just now. Sorry, I lost track of time and then accidentally woke up Chara. Should’ve been more quiet.” It was a blatant lie, and Sans felt a bit guilty for it, but it was better than the truth. He just hoped his sister would go along with him. 

“... right.” Asgore was giving them a look that proved he didn’t really believe them, but at least he was letting it slide this time, much to Sans’s relief. “Go back upstairs with Frisk, Chara.” The brunette nodded, slipping past the two monsters to the stairs, going up to the second floor with her sibling holding onto her hand.

Once the two kids were gone, Sans tried to follow them, but not before a furry paw was placed on his shoulder. “Is everything alright?”

The question surprised him. “‘Course. Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how often you’ve been out of the house, and the way you try to sneak around.” The older monster's eyes softened. “If something is wrong, you know you can talk to me, right?” 

Sans bristled, brushing off his father’s hand. It wasn’t that he hated that Asgore was worried, but it did make him uncomfortable. He’d gotten so used to being the “big brother” of all his siblings, helping them with their problems instead of his own, and now actually speaking up about his depression and problems made him more than a little uneasy. It took him well into his twenties to finally talk to his father and get the help he needed. He was better now, plus he always made sure not to forget his meds. That being said, after Asgore found out, he did get more watchful over Sans.

“Dad, I’m fine. Trust me, I’m almost 30, I can take care of myself.” He smiled, this time it was genuine. He didn’t want the goat monster stressing over something he didn’t need to worry about. Sure, the guy wasn’t going to die anytime soon (as long as he stays healthy, Asgore, just like all monsters, could easily live to be over a thousand years old) but all of that stress could really wear him down and affect his soul’s health. “You worry too much, old man.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m your father, that’s my job.”

“Maybe for Chara and Frisk.” He nudged him gently. “Paps and I are adults though, we’re old enough to know we can talk to you if we need help.” He had to restrain himself from wincing at the mention of his brother. If their relationship had been shaky before, it was practically shattered now. “Let’s go get some sleep, I think we both need it.”

*****

“My dear citizens.” Gaster folded his hands in his lap, staring into the camera lens. His reflection stared back at him, but he knew that most, if not all, of the monsters in Blightview that could afford a screen was watching him. “It has come to my attention, that there is a certain problem that needs to be addressed.”

Honestly, it was ridiculous that this even needed to be said. For one, surely the protests would die down as soon as people realized just how good of a king Gaster has been. Besides, he knew damn well who was behind all this: that skeleton that had showed up after his first tests with Ink - what had been his name? Not that that mattered, he’d be taken care of eventually. After all this was done, he could easily send something to execute the monster. 

“The recent riots are nothing any of you should worry yourselves about. I can assure you, this will not lead to a civil war. These are simply short tempered delinquents who are trying to prove their worth by going against society. They will not win, this kingdom has survived far worse than this. As your king, I will protect you, my subjects, so that you might live in peace and safety.”

“Now, there is one other thing I believe must be covered in this short broadcast.” With a quick flick of his wrist, he beckoned Dream to step into the frame. 

“Hello everyone.” The prince smiled into the camera, but Gaster recognized that lack of personality in his eyelight. A side effect of the drug he’d been using on the boy. He doubted anyone noticed, you could only see it if you were really looking for it or already knew it was there. “I realize some of you have been concerned about my health because of my lack of interaction with the media. I want you all to know that I am fine, I have simply been busy as of late.”

“With that, we both wish you all a wonderful day. May the sun shine bright.”

“And may the grain of our fields grow strong.” Dream easily finished the mantra, and the camera was switched off. Gaster let his smile fall, no longer needing to keep up the act. 

“Father, may I speak with you? Privately.” His eye lights flickered to his son. The boy was beginning to rub on his nerves - he had assumed after making him forget about that irrelevant guard and making him take on a more professional personality, he wouldn't have to deal with the younger boy's questions as often. As it would seem, he had been wrong.

“I suppose.” Gaster stood, watching as the Prince fidgeted with the hem of his gloves. Odd, he had been sure he’d made Dream more confident, the boy’s stumbling was beyond annoying.

The King followed the smaller monster out of the throne room, looking around the hallway - which was surprisingly empty - before sighing, wrapping his arms around his body. “I wanted to ask.. Well, it’s a bit complicated, um, but…”

“I’ve told you not to stutter Dream. A prince should know exactly what he is to say at all times.” He was slowly losing his patience with the younger monster. Luckily, they had a session in a few days, meaning he could take his frustrations out on the boy then without consequence.

“... right, my apologies Father. It’s just… have I ever hit my skull on anything? That caused me to, let’s say, forget some of the staff in the castle?”

Gaster’s eye socket twitched. “No. Why would you ask such a ridiculous question?”

“Two months ago, during that first protest, do you remember when I was out on the balcony?” Of course he did, it had annoyed the older skeleton to no end. Especially since he had told the young prince to stay in his room. “I saw someone within the crowd, he was a guard here for a short while, I think. I only saw him once, but it was odd. He acted like he knew me, but I had no memory of him… uh, back to my point, when I saw him, this name popped into my head. Cross. It was like I knew him, but couldn’t recall--” 

Gaster's hand came down hard, the sound of it hitting Dream’s cheek echoing in the empty hall. The boy stumbled backwards from the force, his eyes widening as his cheek reddened, his magic making the area flush slightly. “You dare think I would lie to you? My own son? I’m insulted.” He spat his words out like venom.

Dream backed away, one of his hands cradling his cheekbone. “I-I’m sorry, I just thought… I…” Gaster took a step forward, the boy cowered away from him, a whimper leaving his lips. The way the king had been conducting his sessions with the boy made it so that even the slightest hit or slap would make the prince’s brain immediately think he’d done something wrong and blackout whatever info caused Dream to get hurt. It was honestly very efficient and Gaster was extremely proud of himself for it. “I… I don’t know what I was thinking, I apologize…” 

“Go to your room. I’ll send someone to fetch you when it’s time for dinner, understood?”

“Yes Father…”

*****

“This is complete bullshit! What the fuck, people can’t actually believe this crap.” Killer gestured to Error’s laptop with the King’s most recent update pulled up for the four of them to watch, and voiced what the others were thinking. 

“No one here will. But everyone else? Especially all the monsters who live in the suburban areas? They absolutely will.” The black monster groaned, closing the laptop. “It sure as hell is going to make recruiting people from those areas a lot harder.”

Cross tapped his thigh, his soul aching his chest. He hadn’t expected to see Dream in the video, and it had left him iching to do something: the prince had looked smaller somehow, and he personality was gone, leaving a blank state. If he ever got his hands on that bastard of a king…

“Hey, dude.” Sans placed a hand on his forearm, yanking the ex-guard from his thoughts. “You good?”

“I’m fine just… seeing Dream like that is unsettling.”

“Why, cause he’s not under you, moaning or some shit?” Cross glared at Killer, ignoring the way his cheeks warmed. 

“He’s not a goddamn sex toy, I actually love and care about him. Seeing him like that, so devoid of life and joy and everything that makes him himself, hurts like hell.” He hissed, pushing Sans’s hand off of him. “But you wouldn’t understand what it’s like to care about someone, would you?”

Killer shifted, tilting his skull to look down at his feet. If Cross hadn’t known any better, he’d say the smaller skeleton looked hurt. Maybe his comment had been a bit harsh, but Killer had been at his throat since day one; Cross guessed that it was just a case of their personalities not clicking (plus the guard thing but that pissed him off, even if it was “justified” in Killer’s eyes).

“We’ll get him out soon, Cross, we just need to be patient and careful.” Sans bit his tongue, fighting the urge to point out just how hypocritical Error was being. If it wasn’t for Cross, he would have stormed the castle already, looking for Ink. 

“Seriously? This is where you’ve been going everyday, Sans?” All four monsters whipped their heads around to find a human who had walked up behind them. She was wearing a green hoodie and a scarf that was a mix between yellow and green. She had on brown shorts with leggings underneath and her eyes were a startlingly bright red. “Pretty impressive, I have to admit.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Error looked between Sans and the girl, the skeleton in question groaning.

“Chara, what the hell are you doing here? Dad will-”

“Dad won’t find out, isn’t that what you said last night?” The human - Chara - made her way closer, crossing her arms and looking between the skeletons. “I want to help too.” 

“We don’t even know who you are.” Cross scoffed. Chara was only a bit shorter than Sans and, if the ex-guard had to guess, one of his adopted siblings. 

“Sans literally just said my name?”

Killer snorted“I like her, she’s got enough spunk to actually make it fun around here.” Chara smiled down at him, clearly glad for the support.

“She’s a child.” This was probably the first time Cross had even seen Sans without a smile, let alone the frown he wore now. “She’s my little sister.”

“I’m 16, I’m practically an adult.”

“We don’t have time for this.” Error sighed, rubbing his thumb and pointer finger over his closed eye sockets. “Go home kid, this isn’t some game.”

“I know that.” For someone who claimed to be “practically an adult,” she sure sounded whiney to Cross. “I can use magic though, I can help you guys.”

“I’m not letting a child join this.” Error sat down on a cardboard box, his elbows propped on his knees - he looked like a stereotypical dad. Cross snorted at the thought, earning him confused looks from the surrounding monsters.

“Well I’m not going to leave.” Chara stomped one of her feet against the dirt ground, shoving her hands into her pockets. “You can’t make me, it’s not like this is private property. Even if it was, what are you gonna do?” She smirked, rocking back on her heels. “Call the guards?”

Killer barked out a laugh. “You guys just got outsmarted by a 16 year old! I knew I liked you.”

“Thank you, uh, whatever your name is. Anyways, either you let me in or I just keep coming and joining in on your little riots without any of this gear.” She gestured around them,

“Just let her join, Error.” Killer hummed, sitting atop the table. 

“How can you even suggest that?” Cross sneered. “She could die!”

“I’ve been on my own since I was 10.” Killer glared. “Kids aren’t stupid, and if you’re so worried just pare her up with Sans. Surely he can protect her if it’s needed.”

“This could lead to war, Killer, we can’t--”

“Fine.” Error cut Cross off. “ We’ll do what Killer suggested though. I always want you with Sans, no exceptions. You get hurt though, you’re going straight home. I don’t want to have a kid's death on my hands.”

“What? No, she’s a child, Error!”

“Cross, I’ve made my decision. I’d rather her be safe than just tagging along and possibly getting hurt because she lacks the right gear and support.”

“Dad’s going to kill me if he finds out you’re here.” Sans placed a hand on his forehead and closed his eyes. He looked pained, like he had a headache.

“He won’t like that you’re here either. Who are your new friends?”

Cross introduced himself like the others, but he felt awkward about the whole thing. Letting a kid join a rebellion just felt wrong. Plus he was a little pissy that Error agreed with Killer and not him, he was literally the only one with some kind of experience in this kind of thing.

Then again, he did have a point, the girl was too stubborn. Whatever, she’d be fine. Sans may be a bit irresponsible but he’d surely keep his family member safe - that’s why Error said he was here, right? Who knows, maybe the girl will change her mind after her first time of actually participating in one of the protests. 

*****

Killer carefully pulled the vent cover away from the wall, setting in on the grass next to the screws and screwdriver. About a month ago he was laughing at Cross for tripping over a box, and now here he was, quite literally about to break into the royal castle, aka the most guarded place in the whole damn city. 

“Life is so goddamn weird…” He mumbled to himself, laying flat on his stomach as he pushed himself into the cramped space. 

It had been easier finding this vent than last time, not only had he already known where he needed to go, there were less guards patrolling. Turns out Cross’s plan to catch the idiots off guard had worked after all. Hopefully Killer would have the same luck inside, he really didn’t want to be tossed into an old, damp cell. 

He pushed against the grate blocking him from actually getting inside. In hindsight, he probably should have thought of a way to deal with this before the present moment. Taking a deep breath, he rammed his shoulder into the metal, tumbling onto the clean carpet of the castle with a loud grunt. Rubbing his shoulder, which now ached due to the impact, a flicker of movement to his left caught his eye.

He quickly summoned his magic, a blade forming in his hand as he pushed off the ground, turning his body towards the movement. It was a human, her long hair was pink, and she had large grey eyes. Killer narrowed his eyes. “Don’t fucking move.” 

“You’re with them…” She flinched as Killer stepped closer, knife aimed at her throat. “The protestors. You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“Shut up.” The monster hissed. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just kill you now.”

“... You’re here for the boy, Ink, aren’t you?” He hated her voice, so soft and sickeningly sweet. She sounded too much like his mom. “I know where he is, let me help.”

“Yeah, right. You’ll just lead me to those shithead guards.”

“I won’t, I promise. I want him out of here as much as you do.”

Killer rubbed his foot over the rug, growling to himself. He didn’t want to trust this lady, but, truthfully, he didn’t know where the mystery tower holding Ink was, and he was wasting time standing here in the open. “Fine. Don’t try anything.” He jerked his head to the side, gesturing for her to start walking. 

Plus, killing her would give the rebellion a bad look, as far as Killer knew, Error was still trying to keep things friendly.

“My name is Bethenny, by the way.” Killer grunted, following her up a series of stairs and doors, knife still in hand. He’d lost track of time, his guess was that it’d been 10 minutes since he’d gotten inside - the castle was way too fucking big.

“Good for you. We almost there?”

“I had assumed you’d tell me your name as well?” Bethenny looked over her shoulder, smiling softly. Killer glared back.

“Not happening.”

She sighed. “Oh well, it was worth a shot… here we are.” She stopped in front of a large steel door, a small nondescript keypad next to it. 

“Seems a bit much for one prisoner, don’t you think?”

The pink haired human tapped a password into a keyboard, a beep filling the silent stairway. “That’s because it wasn’t made to contain Ink.”

The door slid open, revealing a clean and rather nice room behind it. It didn’t look anything like a cell chamber, more like the bedrooms people in the suburbs would have, only bigger.

“Oh, Bethenny, I wasn’t expecting you to come back so soon, Ink and I were… who’s this?” There were two skeletons in the room, the first one was easy to figure out, he was obviously Ink. Killer had seen a picture of him in Error’s tent, so he already knew what to expect. The other skeleton on the other hand…

“This is… well I don’t know his name, he’s here to--”

“Killer. Name’s Killer. Error sent me.” Ink’s eyes widened as the other skeleton pushed himself up onto his feet. His left arm was bandaged, he made a mental note to make sure someone checked on that back at the camp. “Didn’t realize there were two of you in here, though.” 

The second boy had cleaner clothes, two different coloured eyelights, and despite the fact that he was taller than Killer, he looked so small and fragile. He looked adorable. 

Wait.

Fuck no, not now. He didn’t just think that, not about this random monster he’d literally just found. 

“My name’s Nightmare.” Even his voice was soft. “I um… I’m sure you know me as, oh what was it you called me Ink?”

“Dead evil prince. Can we go?” The boy’s left eyelight was changing rapidly, and he was practically bouncing on the spot.

“Just hold on a minute, jesus.” Killer sighed, adjusting his mask. “I get it now. You’re the other twin, the one everyone thought was dead, blah blah blah. Why aren’t you dead then?”

“Father lied-”

“Oh, well that explains it all.” He couldn’t say he was surprised. If he’d been honest, he’d always been one of the monsters who believed the Prince was never killed in the first place, and it was nice to know he’d been right about something. “Sit down, what the hell are on your wrists?”

Nightmare gave him a confused look, his cheek flushing as Killer stood in front of him, examining the shackle on his arm. “You’re… not surprised?”

“Not really, kinda thought you were alive this whole time.” He cursed. “Hey, lady, these things won’t stop him from leaving the room, will they?”

“No, they just restrict the boy from using his magic.” She glanced out the door, her nervousness radiating off of her. Killer wouldn’t lie and say that he wasn’t getting anxious, he needed to get both Ink and Nightmare out of here before he got caught.

That was another thing, he hadn’t exactly planned to take two people back to camp. Getting two people out of the castle undetected would be hard as it is, but three?

“Good. I’ll get them off of you at camp.” He felt odd as the other skeleton stared at him with his flushed cheeks, and he couldn’t get rid of the thought that he needed to protect Nightmare. And that he was really freaking cute, but Killer was desperately trying to ignore both of these. “Get up. We need to go.”

*****

Ink was nervous. He was nervous about what Error would think when he saw him again, he was nervous that Error wouldn't actually be somewhere beyond this metal gate. But most of all, he was excited at the mere thought of being able to see his fiance again.

The way out of the castle and to this “camp” as Killer called it - by the looks of it, it was just an old orphanage - had been slow and stressful. Neither of the three monsters did much talking, a few times Killer spoke up to give them directions or make sure they weren't doing something that would get them caught. Nightmare seemed amazed to be out, even if they were just in dark alleyways and side streets. Ink wondered if the Prince had even been in this part of town before - he knew he certainly hadn't.

“You ready?” The smaller skeleton raised an eyebrow, one hand on the old gate. In any other situation, Ink probably would have been happy to have found someone who was shorter than him, but the truth of the matter was that Killer freaked Ink out: the mask, the strange “don't fuck with me” aura. 

“Yes. Sorry, I’m...” He rubbed his arms, hand lingering on his bandage. God, he hoped Error wouldn't react badly. “I'm ready.”

Killer hummed, turning to Nightmare. “What about you? Those people probably won't react as calmly as I did about you being alive.” 

“I know…” the Prince took a deep breath, a small smile on his lips. “I'm ready for it though. Plus, I don't think Ink wants to wait anymore.”

“Alrighty then.” With that, the monster pushed open the gate with a loud creak, the different monsters within the walls turning their heads to look at who had just come in. 

Ink stepped through first, gently pushing past Killer, his eyelights rapidly scanning the crowd. He felt the air leave his lungs as his eyes finally landed on who he had been looking for: Error. He stood next to two other monsters and a human girl, his body leaning against a plastic table but his skull was turning up towards Ink.

The small monster let out a soft sob, his legs pushing him off the ground as he sprinted to the black skeleton; he laughed, moving away from the table and running towards Ink. Picking him up with ease, the two monsters sobbed and laughed, pressing their foreheads together. 

“You're ok…” Error brought a hand to his fiancé’s face, cupping his cheek and stroking away his tears with his thumb. 

Ink sniffed, putting his hands on the side of the black skeleton’s skull, giggling. “I'm ok…” He pressed a kiss to the Error’s lips, letting himself linger in the feeling of just being there with him again. 

They pulled away, their skulls still pressed together, their eyes meeting. “God, Ink… I love you so much, I thought… I was so scared.” Error's voice was so soft, so close to breaking. “...what did he do to you?”

“We'll talk about it later…” Ink pressed another kiss to his cheek, his skull beginning to heat up as he realized just how many people must be watching them.

“Error.” The black skeleton looked away from Ink, eyes meeting Killer’s and then Nightmare’s.

“Who's this?” Never had Ink thought he'd see his fiance like this. Sure, he knew Error was good at getting jobs done and doing hard work, but he'd never tried to be a leader like this before. 

The crowd's eyes, thankfully, shifted away from Ink and Error to the Prince. The poor boy looked unbelievably uncomfortable, but spoke up anyways. “My name is Nightmare, I-I'm the one of the twin Princes.” He paused when he heard someone in the crowd scoff, his body shrinking in on itself. “I-I…”

“The King lied about him.” Killer cut in, stepping in front of Nightmare - it looked to Ink like he was trying to protect the Prince. “He's been locked up for years and the King made up that whole story about Nightmare going batshit crazy. So you know, don't be an asshole, he's been through hell already.” 

The crowd mumbled amongst themselves, then slowly began dispersing as Error made his way towards Killer and the Prince. Ink wrapped his arms around the other’s neck, resting his chin on his shoulder.

“You're going to need a place to stay, right?” Nightmare gave him a confused look, his head tilting to the side. “My name’s Error.”

The Prince smiled. “I figured, considering how Ink is clinging to you.” He giggled. “He told me about you when we were locked up.”

“Did he now?” The black skeleton gently nuzzled Ink’s skull, earning him a soft mumble, close to a purr. “Either way, we don't have any more free rooms left in the orphanage, but I'm sure you could stay with someone.” He looked pointedly at Killer.

The short skeleton sighed, rocking back on his heels. “Fine, whatever. He can stay in my room.” Nightmare’s cheeks blossomed with colour. 

Error said a few more things to Killer and Nightmare, but Ink was starting to doze off at that point. It had been so long since Error held him, he just wanted to press closer to him, have his arms around him, feel his breath on the top of his skull as they slept. He felt like a teenager again, first realizing his feelings for the taller monster. At some point, Error had left the others and went into one of the large tents in the courtyard- his tent? - and set Ink down on the makeshift bed, sitting next to him.

Ink whined, scooting closer and onto Error’s lap. “...Ink.” His voice was soft, one hand on the back of Ink’s spine, rubbing up and down slowly. “What happened to your arm?” 

The smaller monster didn't answer right away, turning his attention to his surroundings instead. The tent was surprisingly packed, boxes and supplies were everywhere. Opposite of the bed they were sitting on - it was a stretch to call it that, it was more of a mattress on the ground with multiple blankets - was a small desk and folding chair. The desk had a lantern on the corner, bathing the tent in warm light, and was cluttered with papers and maps. 

Error waiting patiently for his fiancé to start explaining, still slowly rubbing his back. Eventually, Ink started to tell him everything the King had done - that first experiment when he combined his soul and his medications, the following “tests” where he would prod and poke at Ink’s very being, the fear he felt first waking up in Nightmare’s room, and the first time he had an attack. By the end of it, Ink was sobbing, one hand coming up to his bandages. 

“It was three months ago..” He sniffed, trying to steady his voice. “It was during an attack, I-I thought… if I hurt myself, maybe I could feel my emotions again… I-I'm so sorry Erry, I know what you've been through and I s-still… I…” He choked out a sob, pressing his face to Error’s chest.

The black monster shushed him softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Oh Ink… I'm not mad..”

“...you're not?”

“Not at all. I know what that pain is like - I'm upset that you had to go through all of that, but I'm not mad at you.” He cupped his skull, moving his face so that Ink was looking at him. “If anything, I'm pissed at Gaster for hurting you.” He kissed him, and Ink relaxed into his arms. “We'll figure out what to do to help you with your soul, ok?” 

Ink nodded, sniffing as he rubbed at his tears. “I missed you so much…”

This time, Error seemed to let out a soft sob. “God I missed you too… I'm sorry it took me so long to get you out of there…” He let out a shaky laugh, wiping one of his eyes. “I'll introduce you to the others tomorrow. Right now, I think we both need a good night's sleep.”

Error smiled gently as the other monster nodded. He pulled off his vest before laying down, pulling Ink to his chest. He moved the blankets on top of them, obviously not caring that both of them were still in their clothes. 

“I love you so much Error..”

“I love you too Inky.”

*****

Killer didn't say much as Nightmare followed him through the orphanage, eventually opening one of the doors and gesturing for him to go in. The Prince was starting to worry that he'd somehow upset the shorter monster. 

“Sit down, I'll get those shackles off now.” Nightmare did as he was told, taking the time to glance around the room. There really wasn't much there besides the bed and a small bag in the corner of the room. 

Killer went to the bag, kneeled in front of it and rummaged through it for a moment. He came to sit next to Nightmare after he found what he needed. Sighing, he pulled his cloak off; without it, Nightmare could tell how slim the boy really was, and yet he still seemed strong and more than capable of handling himself (just going off of what he's already seen Killer do, climbing over fences was not as easy as it looked). He wore a skin tight - or would it be bone tight?- long sleeved shirt tucked into his grey pants. The shirt was an unsaturated red, almost brown, and two straps, a slightly lighter colour, crossed over his chest in a “X”.

Nightmare felt his cheeks warm as Killer took his hand, beginning to work on the metal around his wrist. Why did his soul flutter when he was so close? It wasn't like he actually knew Killer, so why did he feel the need to be close to him, to make sure he's ok? 

Why did he want to hug him? 

It couldn't be love, he'd read hundreds of books about that and it always happened after the two people were friends. Even Ink said that he and Error were friends for a long time before Ink even started crushing on him.

“Why'd they put these on you?” Killer pulled off the first shackle, tossing it to the side before starting to work on the next one.

“I, um, I have this condition where if I get too upset or angry or I feel too many negative emotions, my magic goes crazy, in a way. My soul starts making too much magic, and it… changes me. I get more aggressive and… powerful.”

Killer's fingers froze for a second. “Thought you said the King lied?”

“I-it was a lie! I never tried to kill anyone… I got angry, it was an accident I swear!” He hiccuped, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. He may not understand why, but he wanted Killer to like him, and not think he was a murderer.

The shorter monster's eyes flickered up to him. “... relax. I don't care if you did try to kill Gaster. Hell, I want to see the son of a bitch die.” Another shackle fell off. “Don't you? I mean, he locked you up.”

“That was my fault. Accident or not, I still shouldn't have lost control.”

Killer scoffed, moving one of Nightmare’s legs up and onto his lap. His fingers moved to hold the metal as he used a screwdriver with his other hand, he seemed so sure of what he was doing, so confident. “Bullshit. You literally just said it was a condition. You can't control that.”

Nightmare didn't answer, looking down to his hands. They felt tingly, he couldn't remember the last time he felt his energy run through them. He hadn't realized how constricting the shackles really were. Killer quickly finished with his ankles, and scooted closer to work on his neck. The Prince blushed more due to how close the other monster’s skull was to his. He'd read other novels too, and someone being close to another's neck always led to more...interesting scenarios in those books.

That thought alone made Nightmares' skull feel like it was burning.

Magic rushed to his skull, making him feel lightheaded. “There, done.” Killer stood up, and the Prince suddenly missed his weight on the bed next to him, his body swaying a bit. “How long did you have those things on?”

“Thirteen years...” He rubbed his temple, the dizziness was starting to fade.

The other skeleton hummed, putting his tools away. 

“I want to help you guys.” Killer raised an eyebrow, standing back up.

“When was the last time you used your magic?”

“When I was Eleven?”

“Exactly. You're going to need to actually know how to fight with it if you're going to properly join us. You're just going to get yourself killed.”

Nightmare huffed, folding his hands in his lap. “Teach me then.”

Killer's eyes narrowed slightly. “I'm not a fucking teacher. “

“Please.” His voice wavered, his confident act slipping. He was terrified of joining, but he knew he needed to do something. “I can't just spend my whole life sitting in a room doing nothing.”

The monster crossed his arms, thinking for a minute before cursing. “What am I getting myself into… fine. I'll teach you the basics, don't go around telling anyone though. I don't want people thinking this is a common thing.” Killer groaned, flopping onto the bed, an arm coming up and covering his eye sockets. “God, I'm fucking exhausted.”

Nightmare watched him curiously. “Are we.. sleeping in the same bed?”

The other skeleton moved his arm to look at the Prince, one eyebrow raised. “Well I'm not going to sleep on the goddamn floor, so I guess so.” Nightmare blushed. “Are you sick or something?” Killer asked, looking away and pulling his mask off and tossing it aside. 

He had fangs, is that why he was wearing that thing? “What do you mean?”

“Your face keeps changing colour.”

“O-oh.” Nightmare blushed more, he had hoped it wasn't that noticeable. “Maybe it's a side effect of taking the shackles off?”

Killer yawned. “Maybe.”

A few minutes later, the two skeletons were both tucked in under the bedsheets on opposite sides of the bed, Nightmare’s back turned to Killer. His thoughts were screaming at him. He'd never shared a bed with anyone other than his brother, let alone someone he found attractive (he couldn't deny that Killer was, in fact, very good looking in his opinion). 

He felt two arms wrap around his waist, making his whole body tense, Killer’s warm breath brushing over the back of his neck. What was he doing?! Nightmare tried wiggling to get the other monster off, his face heating up more and more by the second, but Killer only held on tighter, mumbling something in his sleep. 

This is what couples did, so why was Killer doing it?!

And, more importantly, why was it making Nightmare’s soul feel so warm and fuzzy?

He had to admit, the other skeleton’s heat was comforting, and slowly Nightmare’s eyelids grew heavy, and he fell into the most restful sleep he'd had in years.

*****

“I know what you've done, Ms. Hunt.” 

Bethenny bit her lip, trying her best to suppress any emotion that might be showing on her face. The King sat in his throne, one leg crossed over the other. On one side of him was Dr. Alphys, and Undyne stood tall and proud of the other side. Besides that, the throne room was empty. 

It had been a week since she'd helped Killer get Ink and the Prince out of the castle, and she would admit that she was lucky the King hadn't noticed sooner.

She knew that if she had left with the short monster, she could have avoided this whole thing. 

But Bethenny didn't regret it.

She should have done something to stop Gaster the first time he brought her and Dream down to see what he was doing to Nightmare. That thought was always at the back of her mind, it was the one thing she regretted most. This way, she can say she was protecting Nightmare the way she should have done all those years ago.

She just hoped Cross would be able to save Dream without her help.

“I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, your majesty.”

“Don't play dumb with me!” The older monster slammed his fist down on the armrest of his throne, his face contorting in rage. 

Bethenny balled her hands into fists, taking a step forward. “Very well, your majesty. Yes, I helped Prince Nightmare escape with Ink, and it was the right thing to do! The things you did to those poor boys are just--” She was cut off by a piercing pain shooting through her right leg, falling to the ground her words melted into screams.

A sharp stake, made from the dull purple of the king's magic, was speared through her thigh. Her ripped leggings soaked up the blood as it dripped from the wound.

“You went completely against your king’s orders.” Gaster stood, walking so that he was staying in front of the kneeling girl, a cruel smile forming on his lips. “As punishment for your crimes, you will be killed.”

Another rod shot through Bethenny's left arm, lifting her off the ground. She wailed right before another shot through her gut. Another and another fired at her until she was limp in the air, her blood created a puddle below her and splattered along the walls. 

As a final measure, Gaster pulled her soul from her chest. The green heart was barely glowing, already beginning to crumble. With a flick of his wrist, he shattered what was left of the woman. 

Turning away from the body, he adjusted one of his gloves. “Have someone clean this mess up.” He directed the order to Alphys, who looked pale and was bent over ever so slightly, like she was about to vomit. The small lizard monster nodded, scuttling out of the room.

“And Undyne?” The guard straightened her back. “The next time those senseless rioters try to gather in front of my castle, I want you to order your troops to not hold back. I'm done playing nice with these delinquents.”

“Understood, your majesty. They will be taught a lesson.”

Gaster glanced back at Bethenny; he'd surely done a number on the human, perhaps he was more frustrated than he realized. 

Oh well, the woman had it coming.

Now if he could only get his hands back on Nightmare or that annoying skeleton who started this whole thing.

Their punishment would be far worse than Bethenny’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A offer a handful of fluff with a heaping helping of p a i n
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, leave your thoughts below!


	8. ~Chapter 8~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of past self harm, suicidal thoughts and domestic abuse. Slight NSFW/suggestive themes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/B5l28mWAbPj/?igshid=8pwo38p4b4fh) or [Tumblr](https://fandomartist1273.tumblr.com/post/189150992336/nisha-i-really-wanted-to-make-a-fanchild-soooo)

"Feeling better?"

Ink groaned, pressing his skull into Error’s shoulder, hugging him from behind. The black skeleton was sitting down, so Ink didn’t even have to stand on his tippy toes to do so for once. “Kinda, at least I’m not numb anymore...” The taller monster hummed softly, bringing his hand up to rub Ink’s bandaged arm. “What are you working on?”

“Boring shit.” He turned his skull, kissing the smaller skeleton's cheek. “I’d much rather be doing something with you.”

Ink giggled, poking his fiance’s cheek. “Actually, about that. If none of this happened, we would have been married by now, right? And our honeymoon would be over?”

Error raised an eyebrow. “Well, yeah… hun, I want that too, but right now-”

“No no, I know that.” Ink cut in, blushing slightly. “What I mean is, um, we would have, you know… soul bonded by now.”

Error froze, his own cheeks turning a light blue. “What are you hinting at?”

“... I almost lost you once, Erry.” Ink moved away from the other monster’s back, standing in front of him to cup his skull with hands. “And it was so scary. I don’t… want to feel like that again.”

Error nuzzled one of Ink’s hands. “Neither do I.” Ink could feel his soul pounding in his chest. He knew Error would agree, but he had been worried that suggesting it so soon after Ink had come back - it had only been a week - would feel like rushing things. Error stood up, taking Ink’s hands into his own, larger ones. “Come on, we can’t do this in some messy tent. I want it to be special for you.”

“Won’t someone see us?”

The ebony skeleton picked up the smaller monster, earning himself a small squeak. “Probably not, it’s pretty late so most people will be either asleep or doing their own thing.” Ink wrapped his arms around Error’s neck, shivering slightly when they stepped out of the tent, the night air cool against his bare arms and legs.

After coming back, he and Error had made a quick trip to their home so Ink could have some proper clothes that fit him (yet he still wore one of Error’s shirts and a pair of shorts most of the time). They had talked briefly of staying there, and only coming to the camp during the day; but, considering Error was the “leader”, he figured it’d be best if he stayed there. And Ink didn’t want to be alone in their house, so he had agreed.

It honestly hadn’t been all that bad; the few people Error had introduced had all seemed nice, for the most part. Cross hadn’t seemed all that interested in talking to him, and Killer appeared to avoid everyone at all times. Nightmare had told Ink that he’d been around Killer a lot, they were sharing a room after all, and that the monster honestly wasn’t that rude. The prince had even called him cute a few times with rosey cheeks. In Ink’s opinion, it was pretty clear to see the younger monster had a crush. He liked Sans and his jokes though.

Ink jolted in surprise as he snapped out of his thoughts, recognizing a familiar voice.

“Where are you two love birds wandering off to this late?”

Standing right outside the metal gate, which Error and Ink were in front of, was Sans, slightly hidden within the shadows. A lit cigarette hung from his lips, bathing his features in a low, orange glow. There were light bags under his eye sockets, and he looked exhausted in the dim light of the moon.

“Sans? I thought you went home hours ago?”

The tired looking monster shrugged, dropping his smoke to the ground, putting it out with his heel. “Eh, just needed some time alone.” He waved his hand to them, his normal smile looking forced. “I should probably get home though, you two have fun.” Error held Ink tighter, his body tensing. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” Sans winked, then disappeared in the blink of an eye. Ink still couldn’t get used to that; he’d seen him do it a few times now, and his guess was that it was a part of Sans’s magic, but that didn’t mean he understood it.

Ink drifted in and out of thought the rest of the way to their home, insecurities starting to set in. He hadn’t let himself actually look at his soul since Gaster had meddled with it, and now Ink was regretting that. What if it was misshapen? Cracked and shattered?

Error gently laid him down on their still made bed, pulling Ink from his thoughts once again. He mentally cursed himself for being so absent minded, he hadn’t even noticed that they were home. His fiance bought a hand up to cup his cheek, Ink instinctually leaning into the touch. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Inky?” Error’s voice was low and gentle, a tone he knew the black skeleton only used when talking to Ink.

Was he ready? Of course he was, but just like the first time they were intimate, he was nervous Error wouldn’t like what he saw. But just like then, he knew what he wanted and he really didn’t want to wait any longer. “I’m ready, sweetie.” He kissed his boyfriend to prove his point, feeling Error pull him onto his lap. “So… how do we do this?”

The ebony monster shrugged. “Not sure. I guess we just start by pulling them out?” Ink nodded, grabbing onto the larger skeleton’s shirt.

“Can we take this off first?”

“Sure baby.” He kissed Ink’s temple, slipping off his shirt - he’d taken off the vest and scarf he’d started wearing daily earlier - as the smaller monster did the same. Ink ran his fingers along the yellow and red bones that made up Error’s rib cage, a subtle shiver running through the other monster. “Here, give me your hand.” Ink did as he was told, watching as his fiance took his small hand and pressed it to the middle of his ribcage. A soft, blue glow formed under his hand, along with a strangely familiar warmth. Error slowly let go of his hand, signalling for Ink to move it; as he did so, Error’s soul drifted over it, floating just over his palm.

The inverted heart was a deep blue, hairline cracks spread out over the surface, some were clearly old, having nearly disappeared completely, and others appeared to still be new, deeper than the others. It casted a blue light over the two skeleton’s skulls, and Ink couldn’t bring himself to look away.

“It’s perfect..” He said, barely above a whisper, his other hand coming up to gently brush his thumb over the edge of the blue heart, feeling it beat against his bone. A soft noise left Error, close to a whine, making Ink giggle as he smiled up at him, noting the blush on his partner’s cheeks.

Carefully, Error placed his hand over Ink’s ribcage, and let his soul show itself. He could feel the heat of it before Error even moved his hand, but when he did the smaller monster wanted to shrink away from what he saw.

Before, his soul had been a plain, boring white, with flecks of colour as a side effect to his magic. Now, it was a deep, black void, colours swirling within it like whirlpools. A constant storm. Not to mention the cracks, like rocky cliffs looking over the raging waters.

Ink wanted to cry, biting down on his lip hard as Error held both his hands under his soul, eyes glued to the heart. He wanted to apologize for it, because Error’s was such a pretty blue, his was perfect.

“It’s so beautiful…”

Before Ink could express his surprise, or even question how Error could say that, the black skeleton brought Ink’s soul up to his lips, pressing a kiss to its surface. A shiver coursed over Ink’s spine, a moan leaving his lips as his cheeks coloured. It felt right, not in the same way sex did, this was like when they kissed for the first time: warm, gentle, and perfect in everyway. Error kept eye contact as he directed Ink’s hands closer, their two souls almost touching, once Ink nodded the large skeleton let the hearts connect.

Ink gasped, his skull falling onto Error’s chest as he was suddenly hit with a wave of intense emotion, his partner’s memories crashing over him all at once. He felt Error clutch him tightly, pressing him closer as if Ink would disappear: when two monsters bonded, they each experienced the other’s memories, along with their emotions from that time. Ink could feel tears well up in his eyes as his beloved’s past flashed before him: the first time they met, the first time his father hit him, realizing he wasn’t straight and his fear of that. One certain memory stood out to Ink though - he’d read about this, too. Sometimes a person will have a certain memory that is extremely close to them, so when that person bonds, that memory will be one of the ones their partner will see the most of.

_Error was standing outside of Ink’s home: it was only a week since the small monster had found him on their hill and bandaged his arms, a week since Error had seriously considered ending it all._

_A week since he’d moved in with Ink and his mother, Winter, and away from his abusive father and emotionally absent mother._

_He took a deep breath of the cool night air, watching cars drive through the quiet neighborhood. It was well past midnight, close to one in the morning, but he couldn’t sleep. Which wasn’t uncommon, but he felt weird scrolling through his phone when Ink was asleep. He didn’t want to wake him up._

_Ink… it was getting harder and harder for him to push down his feelings for the boy. It was honestly a bit funny. They’d been friends for as long as he could remember, and here he was, realizing he had a huge fucking crush on him. His protectiveness, his comfort around him, everything made sense, the only problem was that Error was scared of admitting it to himself._

_“Error…?” The black monster jumped slightly, turning to find a very groggy looking Ink at the door, rubbing his eye. “...What are you doing?”_

_“Couldn’t sleep… sorry.” He blushed slightly as Ink stood next to him, leaning on his shoulder._

_“Don’t be… did you have a nightmare?” He yawns, and Error wanted to gush about how his nasal ridge scrunched ever so slightly when he did so, and how absolutely adorable it was._

_Jesus, he was really smitten, wasn’t he?_

_“Nah, it’s really not a big deal.”_

_“... Error?”_

“ _Yeah?”_

_“Are you happy here?”_

_The sudden change in Ink’s tone surprised Error more than the question itself. He rarely heard him so serious, usually his voice was high pitched and happy: the last time he heard this tone was when they were on the hill together._

_“I…” He bit his tongue. How was he supposed to answer this? He didn’t want to lie, especially when Ink sounded like that. Then again, where did this question come from? “I think so. It’s… complicated, you know?” He felt Ink’s hand find his own, holding it tightly. “When I’m with you, when I’m here, I feel… I feel happy, and safe. Other times I… it's hard to explain.” He fought the urge to scratch his arms, anxiety building in his chest. He still wasn’t used to being open about any of this._

_Ink was quiet for a long time, watching the road with Error before he finally spoke up again. “I’m happy with you too, you know… but I want to help you feel happy and safe no matter where you go..”_

_“I know…”And he really did. He still didn’t understand why Ink cared so much, but he was grateful for it nonetheless._

_“Come on glitchy..” He pulled gently on Error's hand. “Let's go back to bed, ok?”_

Ink let out a soft sob as the flashbacks finally ended, his body trembling from the amount of emotions he just went through. The sheer thought that Error really went through all that was enough to make him never want to let go again. The black skeleton’s broad shoulders shuddered, and Ink realized that he wasn’t the only one crying. He brought his hand up to rub slow circles along his new soulmate’s spine.

Error sniffled, his hand against the back of Ink’s skull. The two sat there in the quiet, both processing what they saw and felt, and the new feeling in their soul. Ink didn’t notice it at first, it was easy to miss if he wasn't paying attention, but it was clear as day. After soulbonding, a monster is able to feel what their partner is feeling, caused by the small piece of their partner’s soul now permanently attached to theirs. Error felt joy and pride, a strong sense of safety (much like how Ink was feeling as well) but there was a small spark of confusion. A hint of fear.

Ink didn’t understand that part as much.

As the monsters’ souls retreated back into their chests, once again hidden from view, the larger skeleton whispered: “I love you so fucking much Ink…”

“I love you so much too Error..” He giggled softly, nuzzling his boyfriend's cheek, slowly moving his hips in a slow circle, “Maybe… we could have a little fun before we go back?”

The ebony skeleton chuckled, the sound making Ink shiver. “Yeah?” With ease, Error pressed the smaller monster onto the bed, holding his wrists above his head. “I like the sound of that.~”

*****

Killer did not like Nightmare.

He was absolutely sure of that, and it’s what he’d tell anyone if they asked. He’d also call them a fucking idiot.

Sure, he always found himself with the prince, but that was only because Nightmare had taken a liking to him, for some reason; probably because it was Killer who’d actually gotten him out of his room/cell, and wouldn’t leave even if the small skeleton said something (which he hadn’t). And yes, maybe he liked that the prince seemed to look up to him and that they were always together, since that meant Killer could make sure no one was being a dick to the boy.

But that didn’t mean that Killer likedNightmare.

Had he woken up the day after Nightmare first arrived spooning him? Yes. Did that cause him to suddenly have a panic attack and throw up a shit ton of magic because that was the most physical contact he’d had in years and, above all, terrified him because he didn’t even want to let go at first? Yes again.

But he didn’t like Nightmare.

Looking back on that day, he was sure as hell lucky that he woke up before the prince; he didn’t want him thinking Killer had some highschool crush - they’d barely known each other for two weeks, and the smaller monster had sworn off relationships so that was a big nope - and he definitely didn’t want to see him so panicked. Plus there was the whole puking black magic.

“Killer-” He let out an exasperated sigh, even though a small part of him was happy Nightmare was back from talking to Ink. He wondered what they even spoke about, especially now, since Ink and Error seemed literally inseparable lately. Killer had thought they were clingy before, but Error had literally been carrying his fiance most of the past week. “You said you’d teach me magic… so, when are we going to do that?”

A pang of something that hurt - Killer wouldn’t admit that it was disappointment - hit his soul. That very well could be the other reason the prince was following him around. The thought had popped into the small monster's head a few times already, but he always dismissed it.

Maybe that’s why he’d been proscrateding for the past two weeks.

“Yeah, I did.” Play it off, he told himself. Act like it wasn’t a big deal, like he didn’t want to keep being around Nightmare. Act like you aren’t scared of him leaving you after you give him what he wants. “Figured you should settle in first.”

“O-oh, well…” He shifted on his feet, his cheeks dusted with magic. Why does that keep happening? “I think I’m ready.”

Killer shrugged, jumping down from his perch on the old brick wall. “‘Kay. Follow me.” He supposed it wasn’t realistic of him to try to avoid this forever. Plus, he was being ridiculous. He should know not to get attached so quickly. Not that he was attached. He didn’t care.

… Maybe he cared a little bit...

“Where are we going?”

“There’s too many people here. Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you or something.” He flipped off Cross when he noticed him within a crowd of people, the fellow skeleton glaring and rolling his eyes. He was so easy to piss off, it was almost funny.

“I would never think that. I trust you.” The Prince placed a warm hand over Killer’s shoulder, making the monster blush ever so slightly. He pushed the hand away, blaming his rosey cheeks on not being used to contact.

“That’s stupid. You shouldn’t trust people so easily.” He pushed the gate open, waiting for Nightmare to go through. After finding Error, he was by his tent with Ink, predictable, he gave the black skeleton a short wave to signal that they were going out.

“But you’ve given me no reason not to trust you, if anything, you’ve been very nice to me.” He most certainly had not. He refused to admit that he was giving the new recruit some kind of “nice treatment.”

He just let him stay in his room.

And tag along with him wherever he went.

Oh, and he was giving him magic lessons.

…Ok, maybe he was a bit nicer to Nightmare than the other monsters in the camp.

“Yeah, well.” He huffed, ducking into an alleyway. “That doesn't mean you should just… trust everyone who’s nice to you. Do you not realize how many of those shitheads are going to try and use you because you’re a prince?”

“Was a prince.” Nightmare corrected.

“What?”

“I haven’t really been in the role of‘prince’ in years so… it feels wrong to claim the title.”

“You are one though, you can’t change that.” Killer shot a quick look over his shoulder, catching Nightmare rubbing his wrist as he followed.

“I know that but… I don’t feel like royalty anymore. I’ve been trying to get people to stop calling me ‘Prince Nightmare’ all the time.”

Killer scoffed, briefly grabbing the other monster’s hand to make sure he went the right way - he knew that he was taking a real roundabout way to get out of town, but it was a hard habit to break. “Yeah, it must be really hard, huh?”

That shut up Nightmare for a few minutes, his voice soft and obviously nervous when he spoke again, making Killer regret his words. That never happened before. “I’m sorry, I must seem so pretentious… do you… live in this area?”

“Yeah.”

“It doesn’t seem all that nice-- no offense!”

“None taken. No one wants to live in this shit hole, we just don’t have anywhere else to go.” With practiced ease, Killer lifted up the corner of an old chain link fence, grunting. “Under here.”

Nightmare gave him a confused look, but did as he was told, practically laying on his stomach to fit through. “Is this legal?” He questioned, watching Killer slide under after him.

“Dunno. Don’t care.” He dusted himself off, adjusting his mask to make sure it was still on properly. “Most things I do aren’t. For example, getting your ass out of the castle.”

Nightmare made a soft noise - something between a sigh and a squeak. “I guess that’s true, but what if we get caught?”

“We won’t, I’ve been out here more times than I can count.”

The rest of the walk was spent in silence, a nice change, and gave Killer some time to get his thoughts under control - which didn’t work. By the time they reached the small lake he’d been looking for, the short skeleton still felt the urge to hold the other’s hand. “Here.”

“Here? This is where you wanted to go?”

“Yup.” He took a deep breath, watching the clear water. He used to come out here when he was younger, it calmed him in a strange way, made him feel safe. In the distance, the lights from the city filled the sky and, on the other side of the lake, a lighthouse could be seen, miles away from where they were now. “The best part is that no one else is here.” He dropped to the ground, pulling his mask down to his chin. He felt a bit a bit more relaxed now that they were out of the city.

“So…”

“Show me what you can do.”

“Oh, um, o-ok then..” Cupping his hands, Nightmare’s face shifted in concentration, his eyebrows drawn. A ball of magic formed between his hands, swirling in whisps and seeming to pool between his fingers. Like liquid fire, a stark contrast to Killer’s sharp, agitated magic. His magic slowly pulled together, the Prince’s nose scrunching as he focused, his tongue poking out between his teeth. A small, flickering bone floated above his fingers, Nightmare smiling proudly at Killer. The smaller monster couldn’t help but give a small smile back.

He hated to admit, but the other monster was cute as fuck.

The bone suddenly fell apart, Nightmare’s magic disappearing as he let out a disappointed whine. “Sorry, that’s all I can do…” His small hands fell to the side, his lips very close to a pout.

Killer wanted to scream.

He’d been able to live his life for literal years without feeling like this, so why was it happening now? Not only that, but he barely knew this monster. He desperately needed to get his thoughts and, most importantly, his feelings under control. Letting himself get close to Nightmare will just end with him getting hurt. That’s always how things like this end for him.

“Your magic has been trapped without a way for you to release it for years, makes sense that you won’t be able to use it to its full ability right away.” Nightmare swayed on his feet, rubbing one of his eye sockets. “Also makes sense that you’d get tired after only using a little. Sit down.”

“I’m sorry.” He sat down next to Killer, linking his hands in his lap. “This must feel like such a hassle.”

“Yeah.” Nightmare shrunk in on himself. “But I promised to do it, and I can’t fault you for shit you can’t control. Don’t worry so much, if I really didn’t want to teach you I would literally just leave.”

“Sorry…”

“You apologize too much.” Nightmare bit his lip, clearly stopping himself from saying “sorry” yet again. “Look, you just need to… stop caring so much about upsetting people. You do you, and if people don’t like that, then fuck them.”

“I… I can try?” His cheeks were that green, that strange green that still confused Killer.

“So repeat it.”

The boy's eyes widened. “I’m not going to swear!”

Killer snorted, a smirk teasing his lips. “It’s just a word, if you’re that worried, I promise I won’t tell anyone.” He winked, the green spreading farther up Nightmare’s cheeks.

Wait.

Holy shit, why would he do that?! That was flirting, he just flirted with the monster he wasn’t supposed to have feelings for!

Not that he had feelings for Nightmare!!

It was just easy to tease him, Killer told himself. It didn’t mean anything.

Nightmare sighed. “I’ll do me, and if people don’t like that…um, f-fuck them.” He burst into giggles, covering his face. “I’ve never said anything like that before!”

A surprised laugh left the smaller monster, watching the Prince mumble to himself. “That excited over saying fuck? Wait until you hear some of the others I know.”

“Isn’t that the worse one?”

“Eh, depends on who you ask. Obviously there’s words that you just shouldn't say, you know, slurs.” What the hell had his life become? He’s explaining curse words to the lost prince, whom he found adorable. Not because he liked him, just because it was a fact. Anyone would think he's charming. “You can get really creative though. Motherfucker is a little bland, but it’s a classic, same with shithead. I like fuckface, personally.”

“How do you know all this? I’ve never read about those before.”

“Oh, most of them are things I’ve been called.” He shrugged. “You hear a lot of different shit when you live on the streets.”

Nightmare shivered. The sun was starting to set, and the temperature was slowly dropping with it. “I… imagine. It must have been hard…”

“Are you cold?”

“Hm? Oh, kind of. I’m ok though” Killer ignored the last part, already pulling off his cape/shawl and tossing it to the skeleton.

“It’s not much but it might keep you a bit warmer.” He noticed the Prince’s eyes catching on his torso, a light blush blooming on the smaller monster’s cheeks, not used to people being able to see his full body.

“Thank you Killer…” Nightmare wrapped the fabric around his shoulders, smiling softly.

Killer’s soul pounded in his ribcage. “Yeah, whatever, don’t mention it.” He laid down, his arms above his head, as he watched stars begin to reveal themselves.

“What’s it like? Living here?”

Why did he have to ask so many questions? At least the others never tried to be so nosey. “Eh. Depends on who you ask.” He was watching Killer with curious eyes now. Before he could explain what he meant, a violent cough wracked through him. He sat up quickly, his hand flying up to cover his mouth as a familiar burning sensation rolled through his throat. He felt the black magic splatter his hand, the coughs only seemed to be getting worse, the goo was beginning to drip between his fingers.

Fuck.

“Killer?! W-what’s going on, are you ok?!” The Prince reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder, but Killer swatted it away as his body lurched to the side. It felt like his throat was being stabbed as he threw up.

The smaller skeleton’s breathing was shallow as he sat back up, wiping his mouth, then cleaning his hand on his shirt, though the bones were stained a slight gray. “Fucking great…”

“... What happened??” Nightmare looked scared, his eyes wide, his body shaking (but that could be because he was still cold) and Killer was sure that if he wasn’t already white as a sheet, his face would be pale.

Still, he ignored the question. Just because he was being a bit nicer to Nightmare didn’t mean he was about to tell him all his secrets and be 100% honest. It was far easier to lie, or to just say nothing at all. Killer opted for the latter this time.

He stood up, brushing off the bits of grass that stuck to him. “Get up, we’re going back.”

“We are? But… shouldn’t we practise more?”

“No, it’s getting dark. We’ll come out earlier tomorrow and actually get some work done.” He pulled his mask back up to cover the lower half of his face, holding his hand out for his shawl; which Nightmare handed over with, what seemed like, reluctance.

The walk back to the orphanage was spent in silence, a strange tension hanging in the air between the two monsters. A part of Killer wanted to apologize and tell the Prince that he wasn’t mad at him, just to see his cute smile; but the other half of him screamed at him not to care. That’s what he was best at, wasn’t it? Being alone, not caring, pushing people away.

He listened to that half.

Afterall, even if he refused to admit it, Killer was dangerously close to liking Nightmare.

*****

“Where were you guys?” Cross asked Killer as he pushed open the iron gate, Nightmare not far behind him. They had been missing for about two or three hours, and even though Error said he knew they had left, Cross still found it a bit suspicious. Especially since he still wasn’t sure if he could trust either of them

“None of your business dickhead.”

Oh great, the little gremlin was in a pissy mood. Cross rolled his eyes, the man was insufferable, but he was even worse if he was already upset.

He watched as the two of them retreated into the building, turning his attention back to the magic blade in his hand. His magic was harder to control, betraying him by spirling from the form he’d made; it was a window into his mental state.

He wasn’t normally a jealous person, but seeing Ink and Error together had made him more than a little restless. He missed Dream.

He’d started falling asleep while holding a pillow just to stop having nightmares, or he just opted not to sleep. Truth be told, half a year ago he never knew how hard it was to sleep without Dream next to him.

Dream… his mind always found its way back to the Prince. He hadn’t seen him since that interview a month ago, but that was enough to haunt him. His eyes had just looked so emotionless… what had that son of a bitch been doing to him?

The blade burst into sparks of magic, his mind too distracted to keep it up anymore.

He was exhausted, but he was really trying to avoid having to sleep. Everytime he closed his eyes, he saw Dream, alone on the floor, bruised and bloody, with Gaster standing above him with a sick grin. Every time Cross would break out in a sprint to protect him, impale the King's ribcage with his magic, only to collide with an invisible wall. Dream would scream for him, tears streaming down his cheeks, a shaky hand extended to him. Gaster would laugh, the sound seeping into Cross’s bones, and stomp his heel down the Prince’s crumbling soul.

Everytime, Cross awoke in a cold sweat, his breathing rapid and unshed tears stinging his eyes.

“You ok?”

Chara, Sans’s 16 year old sister, stood beside him, head tilted upwards to look at his face. Personally, the older skeleton was still a bit miffed that Error had let her join. Other than being slightly annoyed with her presence, Cross didn’t really have an opinion on her.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t really seem fine.” Her hands found their way to her sweater pockets, taking a step back when Cross glared at her. “... I’m not here to interrogate you on how you feel. I feel you don’t like me very much.”

Cross shrugged, turning his gaze away from her. “What do you want?”

“Sans told me why you’re here-”

“Oh, are you one of those fangirls too? For fucks sake, I don’t want to explain everything about mine and Dream’s relationship, we deserve privacy too.”

“I don’t care about that.” She snapped, catching the ex-guard by surprise. “I wanted to ask if you worked with a guard named Papyrus.”

“Pap? Yeah, but I wasn’t very close to him. He’s still pretty new.” Why was she asking about him? “Why?”

“... He’s my brother. Our brother.” Now that he thought of it, Cross could recall Papyrus mentioning his siblings before, never by name tho. “Sans saw him, before, uh, what’s his name? Ink? Came back, and he’s been acting weird ever since…”

“He seems fine to me.” His eye lights sought out the skeleton in question, finding him talking, rather animatedly, to Error and Ink, his constant smile still in place.

“I’m his family, I obviously know him better than you.” Chara rolled his eyes, watching her brother with him. She reminded Cross of Killer.

He didn’t like it.

“I just want to know if Papyrus seemed off the last time you saw him. He was always bubbly and happy when he still lived at home.” The human girl added.

“Nope, he acted the same as always. But it’s been over six months since I saw him.”

She stayed silent after that, sighing heavily. “Yeah, ok… thanks anyways.” She gave him a brisk wave before walking away, once again leaving Cross with his thoughts.

Back to figuring out if he should risk a nightmare by sleeping or continue to avoid his bed like the plague.

*****

Sans knew a thing or two when it came to souls.

He knew that the normal temperature for one is 36-37°C, much like a human’s body temperature, and that this wasn’t something taught in primary schools because it’s only needed in severe cases. Meaning, if a monster’s soul temp is drastically different from the average, more likely than not that person is suffering from a serious soul problem. Depending on the actual difference in temperatures, that monster’s very life could be at risk.

He knew that cracks in a person’s soul are completely natural and heal overtime, but the soul itself is a very fragile thing, it takes very little to shatter one, especially if the owner is not in a good mental state.

He also knew exactly how monsters tend to act around each other if they're new soulmates. And Error and Ink were showing all the signs.

He’d been trying to bring it up for about two weeks now - honestly he just wanted to tease them, as the jokester friend he felt it was his duty to do so - but they always seemed to be around someone, and Sans didn’t want to be a dick and say something like that in front of strangers. He’d debated not saying anything at all, but if they really did bond there was a good chance Ink was pregnant (He had no idea if Ink was the one who actually had less magic out of the two of them, but that was his hunch), and he wanted them to know they could come to him for help while this whole revolution thing is happening.

For once, the couple was actually alone, sitting at the plastic table in front of their tent, Ink on Error’s lap. Now was his chance.

“Sooooo,” He rested his elbows on the table, leaning over. The black skeleton’s eye’s flickered to him behind his red framed glasses, Sans had only seen him wear them when reading, they suited him well though. “You two soul bonded?”

Both of their eyes widened, though Error looked far closer to yelling at him while his fiance just looked surprised. “How did you know?” Ink’s voice was hushed, but the undertone of panic was clear.

“I studied soulology and stuff like that for two years, I was really close to graduating almost a year early when I dropped out.” He explained, a little embarrassed to admit he left school now, even if it was for a good cause. “There are certain things all monster’s do after bonding: they become super clingy and cuddly with each other, they end up bringing each other up in conversations more often, and they can often be caught staring at the other’s chest. All things you two have been doing for, what? The past two weeks now I think?” Ink’s face was bright with his blush, while Error seemed to be studying him, his own cheeks a light blue. “I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“You almost became a doctor?” The black skeleton asked, taking off his glasses.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Had to drop out for family reasons though.”

The couple shared a look, Ink standing up after giving the taller skeleton a nod. “Can you come with us? In here.” Error lifted the flap to the door, gesturing for Sans to follow them in. Once inside, Ink

took a seat on the mattress, playing with the hem of the shirt he was wearing.

“Are you two having soul problems or something?” Sans rocked on his heels, watching the two other skeletons’ faces for a reaction. Ink watched Error with worry, seeming close to throwing up. The taller monster sat next to him, whispering something and rubbing his back slowly.

Cautiously, the two of them explained to Sans what had been going on with Ink’s soul: starting with how it was when he was younger to now. By the end, Sans was seated on the ground in front of them, brows furrowed.

“I remember learning a bit about your case, we never were told names though - patient privacy and all that - but we were all told to expect the unexpected, since everyone’s soul is different and they’re such hard things to understand.” Casting a look between the two lovers, he softly asked a question. “Can I take a look? No touching, I just want to see what’s going on, it might help me figure this all out.”

Ink took a deep breath before nodding his skull. “I’ve had other doctors look, and I trust you so…”

“Error?”

The skeleton in question raised an eyebrow. “Why ask me? You’re not looking at mine.”

“You two are bonded, I will be seeing a part of your soul through Ink.”

The smaller of the two held Error’s hand, who shrugged. “If you think you can help him, do whatever you need to.”

With that, Ink pulled his soul forward. It was like nothing Sans had seen before, the magic swirling in patterns and paths, sometimes spiralling away from the heart and vanishing into the air. In the center, the tendrils curled and uncurled around a small blue orb, the part of Error’s soul that was implanted in the small heart. After studying it for about 15 minutes, it could have been half an hour though, Sans gestured for Ink to return his soul to his chest.

“Well?”

“So, the thing about souls is that there’s a very, very thin spider web like seal around your magic - this is what lets souls keep that heart shape we’re all familiar with.” Sans started. “My guess is that because your body hasn’t been able to make the correct energy needed to create emotions like the rest of us, now that it can it’s just confused. It’s still trying to make the magic without the emotions to fill your soul, but your soul is fighting back with the magic that can create emotions. It's creating too much magic to fit in that seal, so whichever side is winning the fight is the one you experience. ”

“Can… can we do anything to fix it?” The smaller skeleton looked so scared, clutching his partner’s hand in a death grip.

“Theoretically, yes. We just need to find a way to even out your magic levels.” He stood up to stretch his legs. “... I can try to figure out a formula.”

“Really?? Oh, thank you so much Sans, you don’t realize how much that means to us…” Ink’s eyes filled with tears, but his smile was bright and full of relief. Sans gave a small smile back.

“Don’t mention it, I consider you guys my friends, so if I can do something that might help, I want to try. Congrats, by the way.”

“For becoming soulmates?” Error asked.

“That too, but I was more referring to the twins.” The two monsters stared back at him in confusion, a chuckle leaving Sans lips. “It’s still really early so I don’t blame you for not noticing, but the next time you take a look there should be two small dots, a pink and a teal one. Those are the beginnings of two souls.” Sans slipped out of the tent, laughing when he heard a squeal from Ink.

They were a cute couple, and Sans had no doubt that they’d be good parents.

*****

“We’re having twins!” Ink giggled, hugging Error and pressing his face to his chest. The black skeleton chuckled despite the worries clawing at his throat. “That means we were perfectly in sync!”

Error nodded, kissing the top of the excited monster’s head. “Yup, we’ll have two little babies.”

“... You’re worried, what’s wrong?” Error mentally cursed - now that Ink could actually feel what he’s feeling (to some degree), he couldn’t pretend not to be upset (not that he did that anymore, at least he tried not to).

“I… look, Ink, of course I want these kids, we’ve talked about this before and you know I’m all for having a family.”

“But..?”

“... But now… is a dangerous time for this.” Ink sighed, placing a hand over his chest.

“I know that… but we can be safe, right?”

“We have to be. I want our kids to have a safe future hun. … You should stay here during the protests.”

“What? No!” The smaller monster sat up, eyebrows drawn. “I want to help.”

“Ink-”

“At least until the babies start forming I can help! I’ll just stick near you. If I start feeling too weak to go out, then I’ll stay back. And when the bodies start forming, but that won’t be for, what, 4 months?” The two of them rarely argued, but they both knew they hated when it happened. Error blamed his willingness to give in on that fact.

“...Fine. You need to be extra careful now.” He stroked his fiance’s cheek, who leaned into the touch.

“I will Erry, I don’t want to mess this up any more than you do.” They sat like that for a moment before Ink’s bright smile returned, albeit a little shyer now. “I, um, I already thought of names…”

“Oh yeah? What are they?”

“Paperjam, PJ for short, and Gradient.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this week, I give y'all some sweet sweet fluff. Next time? You shall not be so lucky >:)


	9. ~Chapter 9~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/B5l28mWAbPj/?igshid=8pwo38p4b4fh) or [Tumblr](https://fandomartist1273.tumblr.com/post/189150992336/nisha-i-really-wanted-to-make-a-fanchild-soooo)

“Do you think it’s a good idea to bring the Prince?” Sans’s eyelights snapped up to the ex-guard leaning on the wall next to him, his sheathed sword strapped to his side, and followed Cross’s gaze to Nightmare. The monster was sitting cross legged on a stack of boxes - he looked way too close to toppling over - talking enthusiastically to Killer, a big smile on the Prince’s skull, his cheeks flushed. It was harder to read Killer’s expression, since he was wearing that mask of his - it unnerved Sans to no end, he liked being able to read other’s faces, but the small monster had an impressive poker face, plus that mask didn’t help in the slightest - but from what Sans could tell, Killer’s cheeks were dusted with a dull red. 

“He said he wanted to come, plus he’s supposed to be with Killer the whole time. Just like how Ink’s supposed to be with Error and Chara with me - speaking of, have you seen her?” It had been a little over a week since Sans first checked up on Ink, and while he hadn’t made any progress on figuring out how to “fix” the small monster, they had given him all the info they could about Ink’s past medicine. Plus he’d noticed how protective Error was of Ink in recent days, even more so than before, and it was honestly adorable. 

Cross ignored his question, eyes still glued to the two monsters. “And you trust them?” 

Sans clucked his tongue, shrugging. “The Prince seems real sweet, and Killer is kinda rude but he’s still a good guy at heart, plus he’s shown that he’s trustworthy.” Cross hummed, finally looking away from them. “I don’t think either of them are bad Cross. You really need to get that soldier mindset under control and start trusting us all a bit more.” The taller skeleton nodded solemnly, Sans’s big brother instincts instantly kicking into gear at the sign Cross was upset. “Tibia honest, I think you could make some friends if you just brought your walls down a bit.” 

Cross only snorted at the pun, shrugging his shoulders. “Yeah, maybe. We should get ready for the protest.” The larger monster pushed off the wall, giving Sans a meager wave. “If I run into Chara I’ll tell her to head your way.”

Sans watched Cross slip into the crowd of monsters, quickly losing sight of him. 

He wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t worried about the younger skeleton. His mood seemed to become darker and darker as the months passed. He wouldn’t blame Cross for being upset, the poor guy must be beyond worried about Dream.

But maybe he’d listen to Sans’s advice and start opening up.

Probably not though.

*****

Killer glared at another monster as they bumped into him, the horned monster taking a step back from the heat of his gaze. He and Nightmare had been put into Zin’s group - a part of Killer was grateful that he wasn’t put in charge of controlling a group like this, but he was also a bit pissed that he had to be stuck in the crowd; way too many people way too close to him. Next to him, Nightmare squeezed his hand, his discomfort clear on his features. Guess he didn’t like crowds either.

And he wasn’t letting him hold his hand because he liked him (yes, he was absolutely going to keep denying that), he only let him do it because the Prince almost started crying when they all grouped up like this, and holding Killer’s hand had helped him calm down a bit. 

“Do you… do you really think I’m ready for this?” Nightmare’s voice was hushed, and he leaned down a bit so, hopefully, no one around them could listen in.

“Relax, it’ll be fine. I doubt you’ll even have to use your magic.” A hush fell over the crowd, Zin waving his arm from his place at the front of their group. “Look, see that? It means we’re going to head out next.”

As the crowd of monsters started the (agonizingly) slow walk, Killer felt Nightmare move closer to his side. Fighting back the urge to sigh, he gave the other’s hand a quick squeeze, his mind slipping into the ocean of thoughts swirling around his skull.

He wouldn’t lie and say he hadn’t been trying to avoid Nightmare since their little “scene” in the field last week, and he wouldn’t deny that he was being more distant than what was necessary. He’d made sure not to let the conversation shift to anything personal during their lessons (Nightmare was making steady improvement, but Killer would still be worried if he was put in a one on one fight), and would silently slip away when they made it back to camp. His height made it easy for him to disappear in the usual crowd of monsters gathered in the courtyard, weaving between bodies and fur, laughing and yelling. It was like old times, going unnoticed through the streets of Blightview, quick hands venturing away only to grab watches and necklaces that hung haphazardly from pockets and bags, sometimes they’d grab bits of food from carts when the owner was looking the other way.

Sometimes he’d go back out to those streets, but he’d stay in the alleys, like a silent observer to the lives the regular people were leading. Sometimes he’d just go home and find himself crying for reasons he hated himself for. Reasons he refused to let himself truly admit.

Sometimes, he’d just find his way to the top of the orphanage and he’d just sit there, the murmur of voices from below a constant hum in his ears as he let himself mindlessly wander between thoughts.

Then, usually late at night, he’d sneak back into the room he was sharing with Nightmare, most of the time the Prince would still be wide awake, sitting on the bed under the sheets, hugging his legs. He’d always look so relieved to see Killer was back; he’d start talking about what he’d done for the past few hours. Everytime Killer would ignore him and crawl under the sheets, his back turned to the other skeleton (he’d still wake up spooning Nightmare, but he couldn’t really control that).

And yet, no matter how often this played out during the week, Nightmare continued to greet Killer with smiles and easy chatter. 

It confused Killer to no end.

But it also made him feel incredibly guilty for treating the other monster like shit. 

Maybe that’s why he was letting Nightmare clutch his hand now, a small step towards fully apologizing, a step towards doing better. Though he knew damn well he wasn’t going to explain what happened with him on that field by the lake. 

The fact that he was even considering trying to be nicer was already too new for him and made his metaphorical skin crawl. He’d been rude and cold and, honestly, an asshole, for most of his life. What was so special about Nightmare that made him feel this way?

It couldn’t be because Killer liked him, right?

A sudden, hot pain pierced his right shoulder, violently jerking Killer out of his thoughts and back to present time. “Ow, what the fuck?!” He hissed, prying his hand away from Nightmare to press it to the fresh wound; he knew everyone around them was staring, but Killer actively chose to ignore it, knowing he’d snap and cuss them all out if he paid too much attention. With a firm yank, he pulled the magic knife out of his shoulder, the weapon crumbling once it was no longer lodged between his clavicle and upper humerus, and turned his anger to whoever the fuck thought aiming for him would be a good idea.

The first thing he recognized was that they were already in front of the large, brick walls that surrounded the castle, the same walls he had to help Ink and Nightmare crawl under.

That felt like a year ago now, even though it had only been a little over a month.

The second thing he noticed were all the guards lining the wall, each one with a sword identical to Cross’s, the air buzzing around them with their magic - the sense of it was overwhelming. 

No one dared to speak, but the tension hung over them like a weighted blanket, both sides standing by, a silent dare for someone to make the first move. 

Killer wasn’t one to back down from a dare.

He had no idea which one of the dressed up assholes had hit him, so his eyes picked the easiest target - a tall, owl monster - his body reacted almost naturally: magic flowed to his hand, a familiar, solid knife forming under his fingers. His arm raised, and he brought it forward swiftly, the red blade soaring through the air, striking the monster in the center of their chest. Right where the soul would be.

Bullseye.

The owl screamed, buckling over as they clutched their chest, ripping Killer’s magic away, blood and dust staining the ground below them. 

That’s when the real fight started.

For Killer, the dodging and striking and blood came almost like second nature - it thrilled him even, made him feel strong and powerful. Nightmare, on the other hand, didn't enjoy it as much. He was certainly trying his best, Killer would give him that, but the Prince looked ready to throw up whenever his eyes caught on a pool of blood, a cut, or Killer’s shoulder. The smaller monster found himself repeatedly using his magic to create a shield around Nightmare, making quick work of whoever was attacking him. He didn’t kill them, but made them hurt enough that they’d know to back the fuck off (though there were a few guards whose dust coated his hands and clothes, and he didn’t care enough to say sorry).

“ENOUGH!” 

Everyone, from the guards to Killer’s group, froze at the familiar voice, their heads turning to the source. If Killer hadn’t been in the middle of it, he surely would have laughed at just how absurd they all looked, like someone pressed a pause button on their actions and flipped a switch to swivel all their heads to one direction at the same time.

On a balcony, well above the ground and wall, stood Prince Dream, his hands gripping the railing and his face twisted with rage. But the look wasn’t for the rioters, or the guards. It was centered on Nightmare, who looked back with a mix of horror and grief.

“What, was almost killing father and I not enough for you, brother?” The older twin spat, the word “brother” leaving his lips like it was venom. “You just take whatever you want, don’t you?”

At this point eyes were split between looking at the two princes, there were looks of pity, anger, surprise, and fear among the onlookers. Killer felt his anger bubble inside him.

“No…” Nightmare’s voice was quiet at first, but he quickly adjusted to meet the same tone as his twin, though his voice wavered and cracked, a sign he was close to crying. “No! That’s not true! I never wanted to hurt you, Dream!”

“Liar.” Dream’s expression darkened, his lips turned down in a scowl. “Don’t even try to manipulate me into believing your innocent act. I know your tricks!”

“NO YOU DON’T!” The younger twin yelled back, tears falling in thick drops along his cheeks, his fists balled at his sides. Killer had never seen him angry before. “You don’t know shit about me anymore, Dream, all because that… that fucking liar you call our father brainwashed you!” Looks like Killer’s constant cursing finally rubbed off on the Prince.

Dream only glared daggers back. “Guards, call off your attacks. Get back to the barracks to clean yourselves up.” He said with more formality than he had a minute before, but the harsh tone returned when he looked back to his twin brother. “You absolutely disgust me, I do hope you know that.” He turned on his heel, disappearing back into the maze of the castle.

The guards left as instructed, orderly and without fuss, but they were clearly unhappy about it. Killer stuck his middle finger up as he noticed the owl monster he had injured giving him a dirty look. His attention was quickly pulled away from them when he heard a sob and thump beside him, his head turning to find Nightmare kneeled on the ground, his skull held between his shaking hands; the Prince’s whole body was convulsing as he wailed. 

“Nightmare-” Killer reached his hand out, but the other monster swatted him away, his head snapping up. The entire right side of his face looked like it was melting, the pure white of his skull turning a deep green as it dripped down, covering his eye socket. 

“G-get away from me!” He sounded pained, and Killer took a step backwards. The Prince suddenly let out a scream, his body curling in on itself. 

“I, um, I have this condition where if I get too upset or angry or I feel too many negative emotions, my magic goes crazy, in a way. My soul starts making too much magic, and it… changes me. I get more aggressive and… powerful.” Nightmare’s words flashed through Killer’s mind, making him fight down the urge to take another step back. Was this what he had been talking about, his condition?

Four tentacles shot out from Nightmare’s back and a scream shook his entire body, they looked to be the same consistency as whatever had been on his face, and they curled and uncurled from his body, snapping towards any sudden movement. 

And then Nightmare stopped moving, stopped crying, stopped yelling. Slowly, he stood, his one eye light still visible glowed brightly, almost piercing against the green magic/goop that covered his once clean and pristine bones. He turned to Killer, intense waves of magical energy rolling off of him. 

“Nightmare-” A tentacle shot out, smashing into the ground next to him, flecks of dirt and concrete hitting Killer. “Nightmare, stop it, this isn’t you-”

“Oh but isn't it?! Didn’t you hear my brother?” He laughed, but it wasn’t Nightmare’s laugh. It was dark and menacing and anything but the shy, soft spoken Prince Killer knew. “I’m disgusting, a liar!”

“No, you’re Nightmare.” Killer took another step forward, and another, and another. A tentacle once again stuck the ground next to him, but he didn’t stop until he stood in front of the other monster. “... you’re my friend. And I don’t treat you right all the time, because I don’t fucking know what I’m doing, but I like that I can call you that.” Oh my god, what was he saying?! He wasn’t a soft guy, he never said dumb shit like this! Hopefully Nightmare wouldn’t remember any of this. A single tear fell from the Prince’s still visible eye socket. “But this isn’t who you really are, and I need the real you right now.”

“Killer…” The tentacles snaked back to their owner, disappearing from view, along with the goop that had covered his bones. “Killer… I’m sorry, I…”Nightmare slumped forward, hugging Killer as sobs racked his body, repeating “I'm sorry” over and over again. The smaller monster (lucky he was stronger than he looked, and could hold up the other skeleton with relative ease) stiffened, unsure what to do - when was the last time someone had properly hugged him like this? 

“What-” Zin had wandered up to the two skeletons at some point, obviously confused.

“We need to go back to camp.” Killer bit his tongue to stop himself from snapping at the other monster - he just wanted to get Nightmare back to the bed in their room, the boy desperately needed to relax. “So why don’t you do whatever the fuck you need to do to tell Error that, yeah?”

Killer ended up carrying Nightmare the whole way back, the Prince eventually dozing off in his arms.

*****

By the time they were back at the orphanage, Killer’s shoulder was throbbing with pain - after all the adrenaline wore off, it only started to bother him more and more and, in retrospect, carrying Nightmare probably hadn’t helped. Carefully nudging him, the Prince’s eyelids fluttered open, confusion masking his features. He set him down, making sure the slightly taller monster wouldn’t topple over, then winced, bringing a hand up to his wound. 

There was movement and chatter all around, monster gossiping - rather loudly - about the attack and the Prince’s “transformation”. Killer’s head pounded, and he groaned as he pushed his way past them, sitting in the grass closer to the orphanage. Nightmare followed, eyeing the blood that had seeped into his clothes. “Your shoulder…”

Killer didn’t answer, pulling his shawl off and over his head, grimacing. His shirt was definitely stained, blood soaking the fabric and a small bit of dust clung to the sticky, red liquid. It wasn’t life threatening, he noted, but it would make maneuvering a bitch over the next few weeks. Nightmare was kneeling in front of him, watching intently.

“Let me help.” The Prince reached out, but Killer pushed his hand away, grunting. “Stop that, let me see.”

“No.”

Nightmare huffed, standing up and walked away, going towards Error and Ink’s tent. A few minutes passed before he returned and dropped back to the ground, carrying bandages, cotton balls and rubbing alcohol.

“I already said I don’t need help.” Killer hissed, narrowing his eyes.

“I know, but it would seem your stubbornness is infectious, and I don’t like seeing you hurt.” His cheeks turned that familiar green hue as he poured some of the rubbing alcohol onto a cotton ball. “So could you please take off your shirt so I can help?”

Killer groaned, rolling his eyes, but reluctantly did as he was asked, being more cautious talking off his shirt than he had been with his shawl. He noticed Nightmare cringe at the bloody cut, but he still carefully began to dab at it. 

He was too close, Killer decided, when he felt the prince’s breath ghost over his bones, and he had to suppress a shiver. No one had seen him shirtless like this - it wasn’t like he’d ever had a reason to be toppless in public before, and he definitely wasn’t hooking up with strangers on a regular basis (most people don’t get turned on by small, homeless men, not that Killer blamed them) - and he felt anxiety gnawing at his soul. He knew every nick and scar along his ribs, every rough edge and every chipped bone, but the idea that anyone could look this way and see them, the idea that the prince of all people was so close to brushing the tips of his phalanges against his ribs, made his body scream in protest. 

Nightmare was wrapping a bandage around his shoulder now, eyes focused on his work. His hands moved like they knew exactly what to do, like this was something he’d practiced. “You’ve done this before?”

“Hm? Oh, no, I haven’t.” He secured the bandage, sitting back on his heels. “I’ve just seen Bethenny do it before. I was really just trying to mimic what she would do..” He softly giggled, looking down at the ground.

Killer pulled his shirt back on, feeling immediately more comfortable now that he was covered up again, safe from prying eyes and judgemental stares. “You were close to her, weren’t you?”

“Oh, yes, very close… she felt far more like a mother to me than a nanny, especially in more recent years…”

“...You must miss her.” Killer’s mind drifted to the first year he lost his mother, to the pain and hurt and anger. Unlike him, however, Bethenny didn’t abandon Nightmare. And Bethenny actually loved him, while Killer’s mom…

He pushed the thought away, annoyed with himself for even letting them resurface. 

“I do, but… we’re doing good here, and once we win, I’ll be able to see her again!” Nightmare smiled brightly, his eyes seemed to sparkle.

Killer couldn’t help but smile back, the Prince’s optimism rubbing off on him.

“Killer.” The smile fell almost as suddenly as it had appeared, the small monster’s attention pulled away from Nightmare, and onto Error who was only a few feet away, coming closer, with Cross behind him. “What happened out there? Zin kept saying to go talk to you.” The annoyance was apparent in the black skeleton’s voice.

“We had an encounter with Dream.” The smaller monster said simply, wanting to laugh at how Cross perked up at the mention of the other Prince’s name - it was almost cartoonish. “He said some bullshit to Nightmare, then Nightmare had an attack.”

“What do you mean? Did you have a panic attack out there?” Error’s eyes shifted to Nightmare, now standing in front of the seated monsters.

“No, no… it’s more complicated than that.” The Prince explained his condition to the two monsters, Error nodding his skull.

“Killer was able to pull you out of it, right? At least we know that’ll work, but it does make you a loose cannon… no offense.”

“None taken, trust me, I understand the effects of this…”

“You saw Dream though, he must of reconized you at least a bit, right?”

Killer scoffed, glaring up at Cross. “Yeah, he did. And you know what else he did?” He seethed. “Called him a disgusting, manipulative liar.”

“... That’s not Dream, that’s Gaster speaking through him, he’s-”

“He’s on their side Cross! Get your head out of the clouds, I don’t give a fuck if he’s been ‘brainwashed’, he still said those things! And he believes all of them! He doesn’t remember you, and you know what? I doubt he ever will!” Killer wasn’t sure when he had stood up, his fists clenched as he yelled.

“Shut the fuck up, you don’t even know him!”

“Yeah, and you didn’t see how he acted today to his own twin! You can pretend all you want that when you - special, privileged you - see him and he sees you, that everything will be sparkles and fucking rainbows, and just like that -” he snapped his fingers. “- Dream will magically remember you and suddenly switch to our side.” Cross gaze was like a forest fire, unapologetically filled with uncontrollable rage, but Killer refused to look away. “But the rest of us are living in the real world waiting for you to wake the fuck up, Cross. ‘Your’ Dream is gone and he’s never coming back!” 

Killer didn’t register the punch at first, but when he hit the ground (on his bad shoulder, to make things worse) and there was a tell tale sting on his cheek, it was like someone finally tipped the pot that had been filled with Killer’s anger. Before, only a few drops had fallen out, but this time it was a full wave. 

The knife was formed in his hand before he could think about, pushing off the ground and aiming straight for Cross, but a larger hand grabbed onto the back of his shirt, throwing him back to the ground. 

“Both of you are acting like fucking children!” Error stated, anger soaking his tone. Nightmare stood next to him, watching with scared eyes, his hands over his mouth. “Go take a walk, have a nap, I don’t care! Just do something to get your skulls out of your asses so you actually act like adults!” 

Killer sneered, standing back up, rubbing his shoulder. “Go fuck yourself.” He added, directing at Cross, before grabbing his shawl and leaving, making quick work of the walk to the metal gate, the eyes of onlookers watching him leave. 

*****

Killer was an asshole.

It was something Cross had known for a while now, but he had tried to fight with that fact with what Sans always told him about the other skeleton: “He’s still a good guy at heart.”

What bullshit that was.

He could take the constant jabs Killer directed at Cross himself, he could take the cursing and gestures and glares. What he couldn’t take was what he said about Dream. It wasn’t the Prince’s fault the King had fucked with his head, it wasn’t his fault he’s being fed lies and lines to say.

Cross angrily wiped a tear that had dared to escape, throwing another punch down to his innocent pillow.

Cross knew damn well that it wouldn’t be an instant fix when he meant Dream again, he knew damn well the Prince would need mountains upon mountains of help to get over whatever Gaster was putting him through in that castle. Which was something Cross wanted for him, something he was willing to fight for, he’d do anything within his power to see Dream acting like his old self again. To see him happy.

He’d even die for it, if he had to.

But that obviously wasn’t a concept Killer could understand, or would ever understand, for that matter. It was crystal clear that he didn’t care about anyone but himself and thought all “love is fake” bullshit. Sure, he was spending a lot of time with Nightmare, but Cross wasn’t fully convinced the reason behind that wasn’t self serving. For all he knew, Killer was just trying to fuck him.

The ex-guard let out a low growl, flopping down onto the old bed in his make-shift room, the old springs squeaking under his weight. Exhaustion from the fight and the stupid agrument, along with the tidal wave of rage and grief still crashing around his soul was setting in, the fight leaving his body leaving him with only one option.

He cried. 

He’d been trying his hardest not to, to give a straight face. That’s what he was supposed to do, wasn’t it? Keep a brave face until Dream is safe, to keep fighting and to not succumb to the building sorrow. But it had been seven months since Cross had seen Dream - really seen him, before Gaster got his grimy hands on him. Seven months since he’d seen his Dream smile and it was hard to keep a brave face when your hopes were starting to crumble around you.

Cross pressed his face to a pillow, he’s tears staining the fabric; he just wanted his old life back, he wanted to feel that easy happiness again.

He wanted his boyfriend back.

Eventually, Cross drifted off into a restless sleep, his cheeks still damp, and for once he wasn’t greeted with a nightmare.

This time, he was met with a memory.

He and Dream were sitting in the garden under a wooden gazebo, flower pots hanging from the domed roof by cords, orange sunlight filtering in and bathing the two monsters in a golden glow. Dream was talking about his day, his bright smile in place and his eyes glittering in the light.

He looked like an angel.

He was perfect.

And Cross couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop smiling. Couldn’t stop the next three words that left his mouth: “I love you.”

The Prince’s eyes widened, his mouth forming a perfect circle, yellow covering his cheeks. “What did you just say…?”

“I- sorry, I wasn’t thinking…” Cross felt his own cheeks burning up, his gaze dropping to the wooden floor.

“That’s the first time you’ve said that you love me.”

“... Yeah.”

A hand pressed to his cheek, lifting Cross’s skull. Dream’s golden eyes stared back at him, a giggle living his lips. “I love you too, silly.”

In that moment, everything was perfect.

Cross only wished he could go back and remember what it felt to have Dream in his arms again, to feel him laugh against his chest.

*****

The sun hung lazily over the horizon, colouring the whole city with reds, oranges and yellows; street lights and signs flickering to life as children came home for dinner with their families and adults went to bars and clubs. Voices and the sounds of cars seemed to drift to every corner of the city, making everything so unbelievably loud. 

Well, almost every corner.

The alleyways and slums remained lifeless; still the same dark and lonely place. It was the kind of place Killer needed right now. 

He was a bit calmer now, but his anger still bubbled in his stomach, he was like a walking volcano, ready to erupt. 

And those footsteps following him were not helping. 

“For fuck’s sake Error, you’re the one who told me to leave, why are you follow… oh.” A few feet behind him, Nightmare froze, eyes widening. It made Killer think of a deer caught in headlights, or a kid whose parents had just caught them with their hand in the cookie jar. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was worried, you seemed so upset… and I wanted to make sure you were going to be ok.” The Prince’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper. It softened his anger ever so slightly.

“Yeah, well, I’m fine. You can go back to the orphanage now.” 

“Oh, well…” Nightmare kicked a small pebble, eyes dropping to the concrete. “I don’t know how to get back… I’m pretty lost.”

Killer only raised an eyebrow and sighed. “Fine then, you can stick around…” Despite how he obviously tried to hide it, a small smile spread over Nightmare’s skull. “... Look, I usually don’t let people come here with me but,” Killer scratched his cheek, shrugging to feign nonchalance, even though it felt like his soul was doing summersaults. “You want to see where I live?”

The Prince nodded enthusiastically. “I’d love to!”

Killer snorted, starting to walk again, this time with Nightmare beside him. “It’s not that interesting, you know.” 

The Prince giggled, clasping his hands in front of him. “You said most people don’t get to see it, so I feel special.”

Killer hummed, not sure what to say. It wasn’t like he’d ever had anyone to bring back to his house - if you could even call it that. Even if he did have friends to bring, why would he? Most would laugh, and it was supposed to be his safe place, like a hideout only he knew about.

Why was he so willing to let Nightmare see that?

Why did he actively want the other monster to see it? He certainly did, he hated admitting it, but he wanted Nightmare to see the parts of his life that others didn’t, he wanted Nightmare to feel close and connected to him. 

But why?

“What happened to not needin’ anybody else, hm?” Killer groaned - he’d almost forgotten about his “neighbor”.

“Oh, hello!” Nightmare, being the oblivious monster he was, waved happily to the old turtle. “Do you know Killer?”

The older monster laughed, an amused grin on his wrinkled face. “You could say that.”

Killer rolled his eyes. “Don’t talk to him, come on, up here.” Nightmare glanced up at the pipe the smaller skeleton had pointed to, eyebrows drawn.

“We need to climb that?”

“It’s not as hard as it looks, I’ll help you.”

“Oi, kid.” The short skeleton pressed a hand to Nightmare’s back, helping him get in the right position to climb, and he shot a quick glare to the turtle. “I don’t know how ya got such a nice boy to like you, but you better not hurt ‘im, you hear?” 

Killer scoffed, watching with a sense of pride as the Prince carefully began crawling up the steel pipe. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say old man.” The skeleton did take what he said to heart, though, which he’d never done before. Truthfully, he didn’t know why the Prince had taken such a liking to him either, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to fuck it up - or he’d try not to, he wasn’t the best at being “nice” and “friendly” which was clear to see considering Killer literally avoided Nightmare for a week. He wasn’t about to let anyone else hurt him either.

Not because he liked him.

Maybe because they were friends, but nothing more than that.

They couldn’t be anything more. Ever.

Once on the roof, Killer dropped onto his pile of blankets, sighing and bringing a hand up to rub his temple. He was absolutely exhausted. “This is where you live..?”

His hand dropped, taking his mask off with it, and he eyed Nightmare, who watched him from the other side of the roof. Killer couldn’t quite place what his features portrayed: pity, judgment, and confusion were his guesses. 

“Told you it wasn’t anything special.” Was all he said, quick to cover the shame building in his chest. What had he been thinking, bringing the prince, of all people, here? Nightmare would be used to lush carpets and clean walls and floors, soft furniture that was never stained; of course he’d be grossed out by the sad shack Killer called a home. 

However, instead of backing away and saying he wanted to go back, he sat down next to Killer, scanning the three walls he’d made when he was a child. “It’s not what I imagined. In it’s own way, it’s homey.” The Prince patted the blankets under him as if it were a good dog, then gave his friend a small smile.

Killer’s eyebrows shot up, and he couldn’t stop the bewildered laugh that bubbled out of his chest. “You can’t be serious, this is a shithole. Literally a hobo shack.”

Nightmare’s cheeks flushed, his smile falling. “But it’s your home.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s nice.” Killer shrugged, secretly glad the other monster hadn’t said anything rude. “... today was a long day, huh?”

“Yeah...” Nightmare sunk farther into the blankets, pulling his knees to his chest. His eyelights were wavering, as if he were about to cry. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“...I’m really scared of having an attack like that again. I don’t want to hurt anyone.” He turned his skull to meet Killer’s eyes, tears threatening to fall from his eye sockets. The shorter skeleton felt the need to hug him, but shoved the idea away, instead deciding to put a hand on his shoulder.

“You won’t. I was able to calm you down, right? We’ll just make sure you have a partner whenever you go out, they’ll help you when things get out of hand.” Nightmare sniffed loudly, shaking his skull.

“That won’t work. You and Dream… you’re the only ones who’ve been able to bring me back like that. Not even Bethenny could.”

Killer remained silent, slowly pulling his hand away. It made sense that Dream could, even if he was acting like a dick now, the two must have had a close relationship before they were split up, but why him? What made him so special? Sure, they spent a lot of time together, but they’ve only known each other for, what, a month now?

Why did everything have to be so confusing nowadays? Killer used to have a solid grasp on his life, he’d understood everything then. Now it felt like he was looking through a kaleidoscope: too many colours and shapes to make sense of anything he was seeing.

The only thing he kept telling himself was true was that he didn’t like Nightmare, that he was just a friend. Though, if he was being honest with himself, Killer knew it wasn't fully true.

Which confused him the most. 

“Then… we’ll make sure you’re with me.”

Nightmare didn’t answer, his eyes moving to watch the sunset. From up here, you could see the sky fully as it faded to black, the sun’s disappearing light washing over the city and the two monsters. You could also see the billboards and advertisements that lit the streets of the richer parts of town.

“It’s so beautiful…” 

“Yeah…” If this were a movie, and the two of them were the main love interests, Killer was sure he’d say “Just like you” and the two of them would share a passionate kiss and dramatically confess their undying love for each other. Yeah, no, there was no way that was happening. Plus Killer definitely didn’t want that. Why would he? “...I’m sorry for avoiding you recently.”

“Hm?”

He tapped his fingers on his forearm, staring intensely as the sky, though he could feel Nightmare’s large eyes on him. “After last week’s lesson, I started being really distant. … I’m bad with this shit, with people, and I know that’s not really an excuse but…” He licked his lips, his cheeks flushing. What was he even saying? Was he doing this right? Probably not.

“... I forgive you.” Killer felt a hand on his back, but he refused to meet the other monster’s eyes. “I kinda thought you were mad at me.”

“I wasn’t.”

Silence fell over them again, but Nightmare kept his hand on the back of Killer's spine, a warm reassurance that he was still there, he was real and breathing next to Killer.

He liked the feeling. 

They watched the sky until it was almost a complete inky blackness, stars poking out and sparkling against the night sky. The air was cooler now, a sign of fall. It would be winter soon, Killer’s least favorite season. He hated the cold, even though he had a pretty high tolerance to it. Finally, Nightmare spoke up: “Did you mean what you said..? That you like being friends?”

“... I did.” Killer whispered, not fully sure Nightmare even heard him.

“... I like being friends too.”

When the other monster stayed silent, Nightmare asked another question - something he seemed to be full of tonight. He always had them to fill the silence, an endless supply of things that needed answers. “Is your shoulder ok?”

“It will be, it hurts like a bitch right now though.” A memory popped into his head, a low chuckle leaving him. “I noticed you’re learning to swear.”

The Prince’s cheeks lit up, his skull quickly turning the other way. “You’re a bad influence, that’s all.”

“Aw, but you just said you liked me.”

“... that’s true too” The sincerity in his voice took Killer by surprise, and he quickly dropped the subject, his soul fluttering in his chest.

Oh god, was he dying?!

… ok, so he probably wasn't dying, but the feeling was still echoed with pain. A pain that was barely there, but still so clear, still so sharp. The pain scared Killer, and he wanted the feeling to go away.

If it hurt, even just a little bit, that meant it was bad, right?

“Hey, we should have nicknames for each other!”

The proposal took Killer off guard, and his eyebrow shot up. It did bring his mind away from the feeling though, so he was a bit thankful for that.

“You know, friends usually have nicknames for eachother, so we should too!” Nightmare tapped his chin, humming in thought. “I’m thinking ‘Kills’ for you.”

Killer snorted. “Doesn’t that sound a bit dark?”

“There’s not many names you can make from ‘Killer’ that wouldn’t sound menacing.” He stuck out his tongue, making Killer laugh more.

“Fair enough. I’ll call you… Night then.”

The Prince’s cheeks flushed, and he gave Killer a gentle smile. “I like that.”

“...You know, we should probably head back to camp.” He mumbled, standing up with a groan, Nightmare following him with his eyes.

“Are you going to be ok to go back already?”

“Mhm.” He helped the other monster stand, carefully adjusting his mask to cover his mouth again. “Let’s go, I promise it’s easier to get down than it was to get up.”

*****

“Killer, Nightmare, can you two come here?” It was early the next morning - way earlier than Killer had gotten up before. Nightmare had woken up before him, like he did every morning, but he always pretended to be asleep until he felt Killer move away and sit up. He enjoyed feeling the smaller monster hugging him like that more than he probably should, and he was worried that if Killer actually knew that Nightmare knew, he’d stop doing it. Killer had woken up sooner than usual today though, complaining about how sore his shoulder was; when Nightmare changed the bandages he noticed a dark bruise forming. Now, Error was waving them over to the plastic table set up in front of his and Ink’s tent, which seemed to darken Killer’s mood even more.

The small monster gave Cross, who stood next to Sans around the table, a dirty look, the tension between the two of them after last night hanging heavy in the air. Chara was sitting in one of the folding chairs nearby, her legs hanging over the armrest, and she had a bowl of cereal, though Nightmare wasn’t sure what kind. Ink’s skull was resting on Error’s upper arm, his eye sockets closed - he was either close to falling back asleep or already sleeping. “What now?”

“Good morning to you too buddy.” Sans said, taking a sip out of the mug he was holding - Nightmare guessed it was coffee. 

Killer rolled his eyes, gesturing to the papers laid out along the white table, some with notes written in messy blue ink. “What’s all this shit?”

“What we wanted to talk about.” Ink mumbled under his breath, causing Error to stall for a second, clearing making sure he hadn’t woken up his fiance. “I think it’s obvious what approach the King has decided to take - trying to beat the shit outta us so we give up.” 

“Gonna take a lot more to knock this skeleton crew though.” Sans said, snickering into his cup. Nightmare couldn’t help but giggle too: personally, he loved Sans’ dumn puns and jokes.

“... yeah, sure. But we don’t have enough people for a full on fight with the guards-”

“There’s a shit ton of people here already, and besides, what else can we do? Print more of your little flyers?” Killer snapped, eyes narrowing. 

Cross grunted, crossing his arms. He looked ready to punch Killer again. “Let him finish instead of interrupting next time.”

“Oh my god- this again?” Error slipped his glasses off his face, pinching his nasal ridge with his index finger and thumb. “What I'm trying to say is, we need a more well known person to represent the resistance. Cross was the first option, since he was seen frequently with Dream, but then we realized we have someone else here that’s far more recognizable and would really give the impact that we mean business.” His eyes landed on Nightmare.

His soul dropped. 

They wanted him to recruit more people? He can barely talk to people already in the camp, how was he supposed to bring more in?

“We’ll help write speeches and stuff, don’t worry. Our hope was to have your first ‘presentation’ next week, we were just working on--”

“Are you out of your mind?! He’s not going to do that!” Nightmare hugged his sides, shrinking away slightly as Killer leaned over the table. “Look at him, he’s clearly uncomfortable!”

“He's the best shot we got of getting new recruits!” Cross countered. “If people knew that the King lied about him and had him imprisoned for years that’ll make them realize how terrible he is!”

“And what about those psychos who think Night’s just lying! They could try to attack him!”

“No one’s going to attack a Prince, dipshit, and we can-”

“I’ll do it.” Nightmare’s voice was soft and practically a whisper, but all heads turned to him (besides Ink, who still seemed to be asleep. “... If it’ll help, I’m willing to try anything.”

Error sighed, setting his glasses down. “Thank you.”

Nightmare clasped his hands together, feeling his soul pound. He didn’t know the first thing about public speaking, and there was a very possible chance that Killer was right about someone attacking him. And if he were to have an attack on stage…

It would ruin everything.

Suffice to say, it was a lot of pressure.

“Then I’ll go too.” Nightmare’s eyelights shot to Killer, a warm feeling sprouting in his chest.

“No offence, Killer, but you’re not really a people person.” Error muttered, collecting the scattered papers still on the table. 

“No, I mean I’ll be like a bodyguard. Off to the side, out of sight. If shit gets hairy I’ll jump in and get Nightmare out of there.”

“... Yeah, sure, we can do that.”

Later on in the day, before he and Killer went for their daily magic lesson, Nightmare pressed a hand to his good shoulder. “Thank you Kills…” He didn’t explain why he said it, he felt as though Killer would just understand. Plus, there were so many things he wanted to thank him for, maybe a simple non-specific show of gratitude would be enough for now. 

He hoped Killer understood, though he wasn’t sure since he sounded confused when he whispered back, “Anytime, Night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, I know this wasn't too angsty but I hope y'all enjoyed it, don't forget to leave your thoughts in the comments!


	10. ~Chapter 10~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/B5l28mWAbPj/?igshid=8pwo38p4b4fh) or [Tumblr](https://fandomartist1273.tumblr.com/post/189150992336/nisha-i-really-wanted-to-make-a-fanchild-soooo)

Sans groaned as he scribbled out another equation, a headache beginning to pound at his temples. He’d been at this for hours now, crumpled up papers and messy notes spread out on the kitchen table around him. He knew he had told Ink and Error he’d figure this out for them, and he certainly still wanted to help, but he sure as hell didn’t realize it would be this hard. Whoever had first figured out how to make an actual medicine to help Ink had to have been a genius. 

Setting down his pen, Sans reached for his - thankfully still full - cup of coffee, sipping the lukewarm liquid as his eyelights scanned the few notes he’d been able to make. Ink’s soul was still healthy, and the few resent cracks he had seen all looked to be healing properly, so at least they didn’t have to worry about shattering the small heart (Though, if Sans fucked up enough that very well could still be a possibility, but he was confident that he was smart enough not to let that happen). There were the twins to consider too, so injecting anything directly into Ink’s soul was out of the question - such a direct change could either severely damage the still growing souls or straight up kill them. Ideally, Sans should be able to make something similar to what Ink had before: medicine in syrup form or swallowable tablets. 

Keyword being “ideally”.

Making medication that can affect the soul and not harm it was a difficult thing to do: souls were fragil and finicky, not to mention that everyone’s soul was unique. 

A fuzzy hand pressed against Sans shoulder, the skeleton’s hand immediately coming up to cover Ink’s medical documents. “What’s all this?”

“Hm? Oh, just some stuff I’m helping some friends with.” Sans started pulling his notes into a neat stack, doing his best to keep any private information hidden - sure, his father wouldn’t intentionally snoop but everyone’s eyes wander sometimes. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were awake.” His eye lights flickered to the window, the sun rising behind the blinds, silently cursing himself for losing track of time. No wonder he had a headache.

“Have you been up all night?” Asgore asked, his deep voice coated in concern as he sank into the wooden seat next to Sans.

“No, just woke up early; that’s all.” A complete lie, he had definitely tried to sleep when he got home around 2am, but hadn’t even lasted an hour before being woken up by a nightmare. He’d been awake since then, and he was sure his father knew he was lying. The bags under his eye sockets were a dead give away. 

“... these friends, have I met them?”

“No, they’re good people though. Real cute couple.”

“You should invite them over for dinner sometime.” The older goat monster suggested as Sans finished the last of his coffee. “I mean, I’m guessing they’re the reason you haven’t been home recently, and it’d be nice to know who you’ve been hanging out with.” A pang of guilt hit Sans like a ton of bricks. He’d been aware that his family would recognize how often he was away, but it had slipped his mind how it would affect them, especially his dad.

He knew how scared Asgore was about losing one of them. Toriel’s death had nearly killed him - a mix of their bond snapping and the grief. Sans could still remember how tired the goat monster had looked after losing their mother, his soulmate. He’d never quite been the same monster as he once was before the accident. 

“Dad-”

“I’m not upset.” Asgore waved a hand, stopping his son before he couldn’t even start apologizing, an easy smile on his lips. “I’m happy you have friends, you’ve been spending for too much time worrying about all of us and not yourself. I do wish you wouldn’t stay out so late though.”

“... Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, I’ve just been...busy.”

Asgore hummed, patting Sans’s hand with his larger paw. “It’s alright Sans, just remember that you don’t need to hide anything from us, we’re all family.” There was that guilt again, a reminder that though his father would tell him that statement hundreds of times, there was no way he could tell them what he was really doing when he left the house. It was just too dangerous. He was still mad at himself for letting Chara find out about the rebellion. 

“I’ll ask them to come over sometime, I’m sure they’d like to meet you guys.” 

“Excellent.” Asgore’s paw came up to gently rub Sans's skull, a gesture that had become so comforting to the skeleton that, even as an adult, he welcomed it gratefully. “Now how about we make some breakfast, hm? We could make some pancakes with your mother’s recipe?”

Sans let out a soft laugh, a warmth in his chest - Toriel was always baking and cooking when he and his siblings were younger, and anytime they used one of her many recipes it always filled him with a sense of nostalgia. Maybe they could bake her butterscotch and cinnamon pie for Ink and Error if they agreed to come over.

“Hell yeah, that sounds like a great idea.”

*****

Nightmare was definitely ready for this.

He’d spend the last week reading and rereading the script he had helped Error and Cross make, and now he could remember the speech like the back of his hand, he could recite it in his sleep easily. Even if he couldn’t, he had the small paper folded up neatly in his pants pocket.

Killer was next to him, leaning against the iron gate of the orphanage, his foot tapping against the cement as they waited for Error to tell them they could go to the city center. The plan was that just the two of them would go - less intimidating if it wasn’t a huge crowd, plus more discreet. Nightmare was fine with that, he honestly hated crowds, and he fully trusted Killer to keep him safe if something bad happened.

But Killer couldn’t magically stop Nightmare from fumbling over his words, or stuttering. He couldn’t stop the way his fingers would tremble whenever he thought about stepping up and speaking to all those monsters. Their eyes would be glued to him; they’d see his temple slick with sweat and would feel his magic wavering, so close to tipping him over but not quite there. The nervousness was never enough to make his body change, but it was enough to make him feel like vomiting. On top of that, everyone here was counting on the prince to not screw this up. 

Oh, who was he kidding? Nightmare was absolutely not ready for this. 

“Hey.” A gentle nudge against his shoulder snapped him from the whirlpool of his thoughts. “You ok?”

“Not really.” Nightmare sucked in a deep breath, hoping the air would somehow push out the bad thoughts, and gave Killer a small smile. The smaller skeleton’s eyebrows furrowed.

“It’s going to be fine, you know.” Nightmare shrugged, dropping his eyes back to the ground. The weight of his crown made his skull feel heavy, even though the metal band barely weighed anything at all. He used to be able to wear it daily as a child without any problems, but now it felt wrong to have it on. Like it wasn’t really his. “Night, I’m serious. You’re just overthinking all of this” 

“What if-” His voice cracked, making Nightmare’s cheeks flush. Taking another deep breath (which honestly wasn’t helping all that much), he tried again. “What if they hate me, Killer? Father- I mean, Gaster had them believe I’m a dangerous person for years…”

“Does anyone here hate you?”

“What? … No, I don’t think so?”

“They all believed the things Gaster said, but they realized they were wrong after you told them the truth.”

“Technically you told them…” Killer huffed, pushing off the gate to stand up straight, gently tugging at Nightmare’s hand until the Prince looked up to his face. 

“That’s not the point. You’re not a bad person, the people out there may be dumbasses but even they’ll be able to see that.” Killer held Nightmare’s gaze, the shorter monster’s grip on Nightmare’s hand tightening. 

The Prince nodded slowly, some of his worries fading into the back of his mind. He loved when Killer shed his aggressive nature enough to let this more caring, almost gentle, side of himself show. In a way, it made Nightmare feel a strange sense of pride, since he knew he was the only one who got to see that rare side. “Ok… ok, you’re right.”

“Well duh, of course I am. I’m always right.” The masked monster winked, making Nightmare giggle.

“If you two are done flirting, it’s time to go.” Killer jumped at the sound of Error’s voice, the black skeleton standing a few feet away with his arms crossed, and dropped Nightmare’s hand. The Prince resisted the urge to reach out and grab it again.

“We- we weren’t flirting!” Killer hissed. He was just like a cat, Nightmare noted and wondered if he purrs when he’s happy. That thought made him giggle to himself, earning two very confused looks from the other men. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say. That’s not what it looked like though.” Error rolled his eyes. “Are you ready or not?”

“We’ve been ready for the past ten minutes.” Killer grumbled, rocking back on his heels. Were his cheeks red? No, they couldn’t be, Nightmare had to have been imagining things. 

Error hummed, looking the two of them over. “Are you sure you’re ready Nightmare? You’re shaking.”

Was he? He hadn’t noticed. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he nodded. He wished he could go back to a few minutes ago when he felt calmer and not like he was about to fall apart on the concrete; when he could still feel the comforting pressure of Killer’s hand around his own. “I’m as ready as I can be.”

“...Alright, just remember, if the crowd starts becoming violent for any reason, or guards show up, both of you need to get back here as soon as possible without-”

“‘Without being followed’ yeah yeah, we know the drill, Error.” The ebony skeleton’s eyes briefly filled with annoyance but he just sighed, rubbing his temple. “We’re going to be fine Error, just relax. Go, I don’t know, hug Ink or whatever the fuck you couples do to calm down.”

Error snorted, his mouth twitching up into a smile. “Is that what you think we do? Just hug 24/7?”

“I don’t want to know what else you do, thank you very much.” Killer rolled his eyes, the tall skeleton breaking into a full laugh. “Come on Night, let’s go.” 

Nightmare followed Killer as he weaved in and out of dark alleys, moving with a certainty that showed he’d done this before. For the most part, the smaller monster remained silent, mumbling a few warnings (“watch out, there’s a step here.” “Pipe there, watch your skull.”) every once and awhile. Eventually, they moved out onto an actual street, the ground made out of neatly placed rocks. The street was lined with shop carts selling anything from handmade clothing to freshly baked goods. Monsters crowded around the carts, some with bags in their hands, their eyes being drawn to the crown still placed on Nightmare’s head. He knew they recognized him, even if he was an adult now he still had the same eyes, the same scar, as when he was a child. Plus, he did have a bit of a round, baby face still (So did Dream, honestly.) Some of them watched the Prince with confusion and surprise, others flinched away, pulling their children closer to their bodies.

Trying to protect them from him.

It made his stomach churn.

“Hungry?” Killer was suddenly next to him - hadn’t he been in front before? - a red apple in his hand.

“Where did you get that?” Nightmare said in a hushed voice.

“The guy over there is really bad at his job.” The small monster was in front of him again, walking backwards so he could keep eye contact, tossing the fruit back and forth between his hands. Nightmare winced at the thought of him tripping - his shoulder still wasn’t fully healed yet. “And we need a distraction, if you haven’t noticed there’s a shit ton of people watching you right now and I don’t want anyone stalking us the rest of the way.” 

“How will an apple help?” 

Killer chuckled, and Nightmare suspected he was smirking underneath his mask. “You ever wonder why I wear this?” He gestured to the shawl that covered the top half of his body.

“...Because it looks cool?”

“Well, yeah, but there’s a more practical reason. Watch this.” Killer’s arms disappeared under the dark red fabric, along with the apple. Nightmare watched him carefully, subconsciously sticking out his tongue as he focused, trying not to miss whatever Killer wanted to show him. The shorter monster held his gaze, a mischievous glint in his eyelights. 

The sound of glass shattering to Nightmare’s left broke his concentration, his head whipping up to look at whatever had made the sound. The glass display of a pastry cart was smashed, hairline cracks spreading out over the surface, a panicked monster who ran the cart seemly paralized in shock. A lone apple rolled on the ground in front of the wreck. Killer grabbed his hand, breaking out into a run and pulling them into the dark space between a shoe shop and convenience store. It wasn’t an alleyway, that was obvious by the way their rib cages were pressed together in the cramped space. Nightmare felt his cheeks warm, his skull only a few inches away from his friend’s.

“Did you see their faces? They were so surprised!” Killer barked out a laughing, his head rolling back to press against the wall. “Priceless!” 

It felt like Nightmare’s mind was working in slow motion, unable to string any of his questions together: How did he know that would work? Were they going to get caught? And most importantly, why did Killer smell like campfire smoke and pine trees?

“... You’re smiling.” He finally managed to breath out, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What? How can you tell?”

“Your eyes squint a little when you smile.” Nightmare’s soul was fluttering in his chest, his previous worries forgotten for the time being, everything was just him, Killer, and this small space between buildings.

“...huh.” He was blushing, Nightmare was sure it wasn’t just his mind seeing things this time. “You’re… certainly observant.” He cleared his throat and suddenly, he was avoiding looking at Nightmare. Had he said something wrong? “We should keep going, if we don’t stay on track Error might faint from worry.” Carefully, Killer shimmied along the wall so that he was ahead of Nightmare, their bodies no longer touching. 

Nightmare missed the warmth.

“This way, we’re almost at the city center.”

“Do you think it’ll be busy?” The tone shift in Killer’s voice was glaringly obvious to the Prince, far closer to his ‘no bullshit’ tone than the friendly one he’d had a minute ago.

“Usually is on a Friday. Puddle here, be careful.” 

Nightmare stepped over the small pool of murky water, stepping into a more open space between buildings with a dumpster on his left. His concerns were a heavy brick over his soul again, his palms already beginning to sweat. Why couldn’t they have stayed in that passageway between buildings?

“Alright, here. You know the plan, right?” 

“You, um, stay here and I go over to that fountain, s-stand up and give the speech. Answer a few… uh, sorry- I answer a few questions then meet you… meet you back here.” 

Killer sighed. “Night, you’re trembling again.” 

“O-oh.” He brought his hands up, confirming that yes, Killer was absolutely right. “I’m fine, really, just a little nervous.”

“‘Nervous’ isn’t literally shaking.” Killer’s hands came up to clasp around Nightmare’s, his bones cool and steady. “You look like you’re about to burst into tears.”

“... I need to do this, Kills. I’m not used to talking to people but if I’m going to be the spokesperson for the revolution, I need to get used to it, you know? Plus, I have you here to support me!” He did his best to give the shorter monster a convincing smile, but with the way Killer’s eyebrows stayed drawn, he was sure it didn’t work.

“...ok.” Killer let his hands drop to the side, backing away to press against the wall.

With one last look to his friend, and a deep breath, Nightmare stepped out into the open. A few monster’s watched him with confusion as he walked through the crowds, carefully stepping up onto the fountain ledge and nearly toppled over into the water. “Um… Hello?” A few more looks, eyes widening when they recognized who he was. Nightmare tried again, this time raising his voice to something his father, his real parent, not Gaster, would call a ‘presenting voice’. “Hello? Can I please have everyone’s attention?”

Heads from all different kinds of monsters turned to Nightmare, and he could feel their eyes boring into him, their gazes hot as the sun. He was going to melt, disappear under their stares. He’d slip into the cracks in the ground and everyone would forget him, go about their days. It was already happening, his limbs turning to rubber- 

He caught Killer’s eyelights from the alleyway. His mask was pulled down, a smile on his lips, though his eyebrows were still pulled together. He gave a thumbs up. Nightmare could do this. He had to do this.

“I’m sure you all know who I am, I can tell from the way you all look. Scared, confused…” He swallowed, straightening his back. “... for those of you who don’t know, my name is Nightmare Azrael, the twin brother of Prince Dream. You were all told I was killed when I was eleven. That I had committed treason.” A mumble through the crowds. Nightmare ignored it, focusing only on his words, making sure they were all loud and clear. Confident. “That was a lie.”

Someone gasped, a confused hush falling over the square.

“Now, it is true that I have a condition that makes my magic unpredictable if I feel too much of an negative emotion, but I have never killed anyone, nor have I ever tried. The King, my adoptive father, locked me up in a cell where I was alone for years, my magic restricted and without any access to the outside world. Gaster has been lying to you for years. He’s still doing it! He is manipulating my brother to do his bidding, he doesn’t care for any of us. He is selfish and power hungry.” 

A few nods from the crowd, someone yelled their agreement. It was working! “But we can stop him! Together, we can stop Gaster and bring my brother back, we can have a better BlightView! We can-”

It all happened so fast: a sudden pain in his arm, knocking him back into the water, the back of his skull colliding with the bottom of the fountain; screaming, the crowd running away; Killer pulling him from the water and saying something, but Nightmare couldn’t hear him. He sounded muffled and far off in the distance. He was set down on the ground, his hands grasping for anything, anything to hold onto to keep him grounded in the real world. His skull was pounding. A red light - Killer’s magic? - appeared in the corner of his vision, but it was too bright and made Nightmare’s eyes hurt to look at. Cautiously, his hand pressed against the stabbing pain in his lower arm. It felt warm and sticky, and when Nightmare pulled his hand away to look at it, it was coated in blood. Why was he bleeding?

“... Night… get… up..!”

Killer. Killer was talking to him, but he could barely make out what the other monster was saying. Get up? But he was so tired, and everything seemed too heavy to move. There was darkness creeping into his blurry vision: it was welcoming, like an old friend.

He let it embrace him, dropping into the black nothingness. 

*****

“Shouldn’t he be awake by now?”

“Killer, relax. He’ll be fine. His soul wasn’t damaged, so he’ll recover just fine. Hitting his skull is still going to knock him out for a few hours though.”

Nightmare groaned, opening his eyes only to immediately shut them again due to the brightness. He was on a bed, a heavy blanket pulled over his body - there was a dull, constant ache in the lower half of his right arm, and it felt like there was a blade dug into the back of his skull. However, he could recognize the two voices that had grown silent. He attempted to open his eyes again, this time only wincing at the light. 

He was in the room he and Killer shared, the window blind pulled shut and a bright light was above Nightmare - was that always there? Killer was sitting crossed legged on the bed next to him, his shawl laying forgotten on the floor, and Sans stood at the end of the bed, watching him like he was a wounded animal.

“What happened…?”

Killer scoffed. “Some fucker shot you, that’s what happened.”

“Killer-” Sans sounded like he was scolding a child, Nightmare had never seen him so serious before. “There was a guard in the crowd, when you did your speech. He shot you with a magical bullet in your arm, which made you fall back into the fountain and you hit your head.”

“I should have killed him. You were being nothing but peaceful and- he could have killed you. If you were human you probably would have died.”

“He would have a concussion, I doubt he’d die.”

“Still!” Nightmare grimaced at Killer's loud voice, and the smaller monster shrank in on himself. “... Sorry.”

Sans only sighed. “I’m going to get some painkillers and monster food for him, it’ll help him heal faster, plus the others will want to know if he’s ok.”

Once the door shut, Killer helped Nightmare sit up on the bed, propping the pillows up behind him. His head was still swimming, but at least he could think a bit clearer now. He had a hard time remembering what happened, it was still all so blurry. “How did we get back here?”

“I carried you.” Killer gaze was stuck on Nightmare’s arm, the bandages wrapped carefully around it were stained with his blood. 

“... Killer, I’m sor--”

“I thought you died.” Killer blurted, his hands clenched into fists. Nightmare’s jaw snapped closed. “I tried talking to you and you just… wouldn’t answer and then your eyes closed… I thought I was carrying your fucking dead body back here and you'd turn to dust right there in my hands.”

Nightmare didn’t know what to say when the other’s head finally looked up to him, and he saw the tears lining the corners of his friend’s eye sockets; he’d never seen Killer cry, he’d never seen Killer so scared.

It made his soul ache.

“This… this is why I don’t do ‘friends’.” Killer continued, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes as his shoulders shook. “Everyone just… fucking leaves or dies! And then everything hurts and I-”

“Killer…” Nightmare made sure to keep his voice soft and pulled the other’s hand away from his face to hold it. His eye lights were so small, smaller than normal, and they buzzed with his anxious energy. He was like the polar opposite to the Killer Nightmare had gotten used to. This Killer was scared and hurt. This Killer only knew what it was like to be alone. “I’m not leaving. See, I’m still ok, just a little hurt.”

“This is just the start, it’s only going to get more dangerous…”

“And I’ll just get stronger.” He knew he was saying it to convince both of them, but Nightmare needed to be strong right now. He can be scared later, when Killer was feeling better and can rub his back and take him away to the lake, away from the worries and the people. “I’m not going anywhere, ok?”

“...Ok.” Killer sniffed loudly, wiping the few tears that I had fallen down his cheeks.

“I promise, Killer.”

The shorter skeleton didn’t say anything after that, but his shoulders were noticably less tense.

*****

Alphys didn’t like the king.

She knew that with all her soul, but she would never say so to his face; she knew what happened when people did that.

People who are vocal about their distaste in the king ended up like Bethenny Hunt. 

That being said, Dr. Alphys did enjoy some parts of her job; specifically the actual science parts, where she got to work in the lab with her hands, and she actually felt like she was doing something good. The parts where she had to stand next to the king and agree with his horrible ideas, the parts where she had to hand tools of torture to him during his “sessions” with the Prince; those were the parts that made this job hard to do. 

She still wakes up in the night after hearing Dream’s screams in her sleep.

Alphys was sure that’s why the King had given her this order, just to see her suffer more.

Why else would the King send his advisor to tell his son that his caretaker was dead?

She shivered as the image of Bethenny’s impaled body floated into her mind, rapping her knuckles against the Prince’s bedroom door.

“Come in.”

Dream was sitting at his desk when she entered, the surface cluttered - unusual for the usually neat prince - and he stood to greet his guest, smiling softly at the small yellow monster. “Dr. Alphys, it is good to see you.” There were dark rings under Dream’s eyes - was he not getting enough sleep?

“Likewise, your highness.” She gave a short bow, then gestured to the two armchairs in the corner of the prince’s room, a neatly organized bookshelf sat behind them. “May we take a seat? I have something very… troubling, to tell you.” Alphys had years of practice talking to royals to stop her stuttering, but anxiety still rolled around violently in her stomach. She still had no idea how she managed to become royal advisor to the king. 

Dream only cocked his head slightly to the side. “Of course, is something wrong?”

The two sat, and the dinosaur monster clasped her hands in front of her. “... I’m afraid your nanny, Miss. Hunt has been executed for treason.”

The skeleton went rigid, his yellow eyelights shrinking to half their size. “Treason? I don’t understand, Bethenny would never…” He sucked in a breath, obviously trying to keep up a professional act. “What did she do?”

“She helped your brother escape, your highness.”

“... No, no that can’t be right.”

“I’m terribly sorry, but it is.” Alphys’ head dropped down, her tail curling around her feet as shame filled her. “I saw the execution.”

Dream remained silent for a long time, long enough that Alphys began to wonder if he was silently crying. He wasn’t, instead, he looked numb. 

“This can’t be happening…”

“... Your highness, might I be 100% honest with you?”

“Yes, go ahead.”

She brought her voice down to a whisper, leaning closer to the prince. “You should not trust the king as much as you do. He is not as good as he pretends to be, and I’m worried you’re going to end up with the same fate as poor Bethenny.” Dream stood suddenly, nearly hitting Aphys’s snout.

“What do you mean?”

“Your highness-”

“Has father really lied to me? Be honest.”

Aphys bit her tongue. “... Yes. You mustn’t tell him you know this though, it’s not safe.”

“I knew someone named Cross, didn’t I?” His tone was panicked, a mix of confusion and fear in his eyes. The doctor felt nothing but pity for the poor skeleton: he deserved far better than this.

She wished she could help more.

“Yes. You two were very close.” She jolted at the sound of a knock at the door, her blood running cold. “Please, do not tell him I said all this, he will have my head.” She whispered, close to hyperventilating.

Dream looked between her and the door a few times before slowly nodding. “I won’t tell him.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, quickly leaving her chair and scrambling to the door, opening it to the King and Undyne, who was standing behind him. Alphys soul briefly swelled with affection at the sight of Undyne. 

Another good thing about her job, she got to see her tall, muscular fish girlfriend very frequently. 

“Stay out here.” Gaster said to his guard, stepping past Alphys and shutting the bedroom door before even saying a word to the smaller monster. She swallowed hard; had he heard anything that she had said?

“Hi sweetie.” Undyne pressed a kiss to the top of Alphys head, jerking her thoughts away from her concerns. “You look stressed, everything ok?”

“Oh, yes, everything’s fine, just work stuff.” Alphys soul buzzed happily in her chest, her tail wagging lazily behind her. “Are we still on for dinner for tonight?”

“Of course! I’m making spaghetti, remember?”Alphys laughed, how could she forget?

Undyne making any kind of pasta was always quite the show to watch, since she always insisted on doing everything herself, and usually ended with sauce covering the walls of Alphy’s home.

Undyne always made things more exciting than they really were, and Alphys loved her for it.

*****

“You don’t think Killer and Cross are going to kill each other while we’re gone, right?” 

Sans chuckled, his eyes flickering to the ebony skeleton sitting in the passenger seat of his car, Ink giggling softly from the back. “Nah, Killer will be way too busy hovering over Nightmare to get pissy with Cross. Poor guy’s worried sick.”

“I think it’s cute how much he cares about Nightmare.” Ink hummed, shifting in his seat. He was wearing a simple blue dress with daisies on it, while Error wore a more casual button up, the same blue as Ink’s dress, and there was a daisy on the front pocket, (Sans wanted to gush how cute it was that they’re clothes matched, but opted not to in case it embarrassed them) and jeans. It was the first time Sans had seen either of them in more formal wear, and he had to admit it was sweet of them to dress up for the dinner with his family, albeit a bit unnecessary. 

“I wouldn’t underestimate those two though, they’re always at each other's throats.” 

“They’ll be ok for one night, Error, don’t worry.” 

“Sans is right, hun.” Ink reached between the two front seats, putting his hand on his partner’s forearm. “Plus you’ve been overworking yourself, you deserve to relax for at least one evening.” 

“... Yeah, ok.” Error took Ink’s hand in his own, and Sans ‘awed’ loudly. Ink simply giggled, his cheeks dusting with colour.

“Oh, hey, wait, I know where we are!” The smaller monster said suddenly, letting go of his partner’s hand to look out the window. “Erry, look!”

Error chuckled. “I see babe, we’re close to the hill.”

“‘The hill’?” Sans cocked an eyebrow, taking a right at a crossroad.

“Yes! If you had gone left you’d find a little hill with this big oak tree at the top - it’s so pretty at sunset - but Error and I have gone there lots of times on dates and stuff! It’s where he proposed!” 

“We used to call it ‘our hill’, even though we obviously don’t own it.” There was a soft smile on Error’s face, a hint of blue on his cheeks as he watched out the window.

“Oh, yeah, my mom used to take me and my siblings there for picnics when we were younger.” He laughed softly. “Crazy, it never occurred to me that other people might have been there.”

“Maybe we were just meant to be friends?” Ink suggested, tapping a finger against the window. “Um, also what’s with the cane back here? I didn’t know if I should say anything but I’ve never seen you struggle to walk so…”

“Oh, that’s Frisk’s, they musta forgotten it when I picked them up from school on friday - they don’t use it around home. They’ve got the whole place memorized and they have us to help them.” 

“Frisk?” Error was watching Sans from the corner or his eyes, his skull still resting against the door.

“My younger sibling, they were born blind. They can like, sense magic though, it’s really cool. Really friendly too.” Sans explained as he pulled into the driveway of his family's home, switching off the engine. “And here we are.”

“Aw, it looks so cozy! When you said you lived in a cottage, I hadn’t expected it to look like something out of a story book.” Ink latched onto Error’s arm as soon at the two left the car, his eyelights wide as he looked over the house. 

Sans chuckled. “Glad you like it, wood you like to come inside though?” Ink snickered at the pun while Error snorted, but going by the amused smile lingering on his lips, Sans had a feeling he enjoyed the joke more than he wanted to let on.

The house was filled with the telltale smell of spices, the sound of sizzling, and pots moving in the kitchen; giving the entire cottage a comforting warmth. There was a glow coming from the living room, the voices of his sister and little sibling coming from the separate room. Sans gestured with his hand for his friends to enter, Ink practically dragged his fiance (who looked a lot more nervous than he had a few minutes prior) through the door in his excitement.

“Sans?” Asgore called from the kitchen, his deep voice seemed to surprise Ink, his eyes going wide. Sans fought down the urge to laugh.

“Yeah, it’s me Dad. And those friends I talked about, remember?” He called, pulling off his jacket.

“Oh! Hold on a minute, I’ll be right there!” A flicker of movement caught Sans attention. Frisk was at the entrance of the living room, small hands pressed against the wall. “Come here kiddo, don’t you want to meet my friends?” 

The small human nodded, running towards their older brother; Sans winced when they almost tripped, picking them up before they could fall face first onto the floor. They waved happily, and Sans turned his body so they were actually waving in the direction of the two other skeletons. “Hi! My name’s Frisk!” They beamed.

Ink gave the small human a soft smile, though they couldn’t see it. “Hi Frisk, it’s nice to meet you! My name’s Ink, and this is my fiance, Error.” Ink pat the ebony skeleton’s shoulder. 

The ten-year-old wiggled in Sans arms, signalling him to set them down. Doing so, they beelined for Ink, grabbing his hand and dragging him off to the living room. “Oh, ok, are we going to play a game?” The smaller monster kept up his friendly tone, but he looked back at the two other skeleton’s with confusion.

Sans laughed, watching them disappear into the other room. “Looks like they really liked him.”

Error nodded, nervously chuckling as he stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah, seems like it. Ink’s always been really good around kids, so that’s not surprising.”

“Ah, hello!” There was a blue towel thrown over his father’s shoulder, and he wore a purple plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and overalls with dirt and grass stains on the cuffs. He stuck out his large paw to Error, his orange and blue eyes gleaming in the light. “My name is Agore, it’s so nice to finally be able to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Error reached out, shaking the goat monster’s extended hand. “Name’s Error, my fiance, Ink, already got pulled off by Frisk.” 

“Frisk is always so happy to meet new monsters, they’re such a kind child.” Asgore said with a chuckle. “Make yourself at home, supper will be done soon.” The old goat disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Error and Sans standing alone in the entrance of the house. 

“I’m going to go find out where Ink ended up.”

Sans gave a thumbs up, rocking back on his heels. “Cool, I’m going to see if my Dad needs any help.” As Error slipped into the living room, Chara poked her head out, glaring at her older brother.

“What are they doing here??” She hissed, grabbing onto his arm before he could escape into the kitchen. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He’d honestly hoped Chara wouldn’t say anything about Ink and Error visiting, but of course she had questions. “Are you going to tell Dad-”

“No.” Sans kept his voice hushed, making sure no one else in their family overheard. “They’re just over for dinner, dad wanted to meet the friends I’ve been hanging out with everyday. They know not to say anything either.”

The redhead didn’t say anything after that, simply letting go of his arm and giving one last glare before disappearing upstairs. 

Thankful, the dinner went by without a hitch. Error wasn’t the most vocal, but Ink made up for his silence with his seamlessly endless supply of stories from when the two of them were young. Asgore added a few tales of when Sans and his siblings were little too. Sans couldn’t help but notice the way Ink tensed slightly when the goat monster mentioned Papyrus, but he didn’t comment on it. Maybe he’d seen him while he was trapped in the castle?

It wasn’t until after they all had finished eating that things started going downhill.

And it all started with the door opening.

Sans recognized the red scarf first; it was tied around the skeleton’s upper right arm, the end tattered and frayed. The same red scarf Papyrus always had as a baby bones, only now it was showing its age.

Papyrus.

He stood up abruptly, eyes glued to his younger brother. He looked confused, eye sockets stuck on Ink, who had gone rigid, head down and staring at his plate, and Error. He knew them, Sans could see the recognition in his eyes. 

He wanted to cry and hug him, but at the same time he wanted to scream and push him away. 

“What’s going-”

“Can we talk?” Sans could hear the tenseness in his voice, the lack of emotion. He pulled his taller brother out of the house without waiting for an answer, his rage briefly bubbling over. He wasn’t supposed to be here, not like this, not now. 

“What are they doing here??” 

“They’re my friends.” Sans said, his almost constant smile dropping into a scowl. “What the hell made you suddenly decide to visit?”

“Dad invited me.” Papyrus’ eyebrows were drawn, his arms crossed around his chest. “...Sans, you shouldn’t be hanging out with those monsters, and you definitely shouldn’t be a part of those riots! You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“Oh yeah, you mean killed by your people who started attacking peaceful protestors?” The oldest of the two brothers shot back. “And you try to say we're the bad ones.”

“The king has done nothing wrong, you are all disturbing the peace, what else-”

“Oh get your head out of the clouds, Papyrus! This is why we never talk anymore; you still think life is some perfect fucking fairy tale and that no one can do any wrong!” Sans’s magic flared, hot and tight in his chest. He felt like he was burning up, and it hurt. It hurt to be so mad at someone he used to be so close to. It hurt to know he would never get his brother back. “This is real life, and all you’re doing is adding more bad into it! Stop pretending you’re the ‘good guy’ here, you’re just oblivious to anything that isn’t yourself!” Hot tears stung his cheeks. 

“Sans-” The skeleton’s head whipped around at the sound of another voice; Error was holding Ink to his chest, his shoulders tense. He was no longer the same skeleton who was relaxed and laughing in the house, he was back to serious Error. “Let’s go.”

Sans didn’t object, helping Ink into the car - the small monster was trembling and tears rolled down his cheeks. He heard Ink mumble something about not wanting to go back, and Error shushing him and whispering comforts back as he sat down in the seat next to Ink, holding him as well as he could with both their seatbelts on. Before pulling away from the gravel driveway, Sans glanced back to the lawn; Papyrus still stood there, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

A single, orange tear slid down the younger monster’s cheek, a look of pure betrayal, pure hurt, in his eyes. He looked like a vase that had fallen off its shelf, shattered into millions of pieces too small to ever even consider trying to put back together.

The look left a stabbing feeling in Sans's chest, his soul splitting as another crack formed into his being. He hated hurting him, hated that he said those things to his brother. 

He hated that everything he said were things he truly believed. 

*****

By the time they drove back into the city, Ink was asleep next to Error, who was stroking his thumb over his partner’s hand. A heavy silence hung over the car like a storm cloud, making Sans’s nerves multiply, his fingers twitching on the steering wheel.

He had never been so relieved when Error finally spoke up. “Can you just take us to our house, Sans? I’ll give directions.”

“Yeah, ‘course. I still remember how to get there, it’s where I picked you two up.” He tried his best to keep a casual tone, but his voice was far more monotone than it usually was and he didn’t really have the energy to keep up a happy act. “Is Ink ok…?”

“He will be. Had a panic attack when he saw your brother back there, said that it was him and some other guard that came and took him to the castle.”

Sans cursed under his breath, another wave of anger rolling over his bones. The big brother part of his brain wanted to defend his brother, but he knew there was no point. He was tired of trying to keep the idea of his little brother being a good guy when that wasn’t the case right now. “I’m sorry, I had no idea he’d be there, or that he…” 

Error sighed from the back seat, sinking into the seat. He looked exhausted. “It’s ok, it’s not your fault.” Sans took a left, slowing down at a stop sign. “He knows what you’re a part of, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, we saw each other at one of the protests. It sounds stupid, but I honestly thought he’d understand why he shouldn’t be apart of the guards if he just… saw me there, heard what we had to say.” He chuckled, but there was no humour in it. “God, I was so naive, huh?”

Error didn’t answer, and the two of them sat in silence until Sans pulled up to their house, the sky black and dotted with stars - though you couldn’t really see any with the street lamps. “You can spend the night here, if you want.” The ebony skeleton finally said, carefully undoing Ink’s seatbelt and pulling him to his chest. The smaller monster stirred in his sleep. “We have a spare bedroom you can use.”

“... Yeah, that would be nice, actually, thank you.” The truth was, the last people Sans wanted to see right now was his family. Especially his father.

Error nodded, grunting as he got out of the car with Ink curled up to his chest. Sans followed them in through the front door, his eyes roaming the unfamiliar home. The door led straight into their living room, a blue sofa and a matching loveseat and chair occupied the left side of the room, a TV placed in front of them. Beyond that was the kitchen, a wooden table in the middle of the yellow tiled room. Error flicked on the light switch, bathing the living room half of the lower floor with light. “Make yourself at home, I’m just going to put Ink to bed. I’ll be back.”

Sans watched the taller skeleton disappear as he went up the stairs, his footsteps audibly above him. Pulling off his shoes, he stepped farther into the couple’s home, his eyes landing on a small framed photo on the coffee table. Curiosity getting the better of him, he stepped closer and picked up the frame to get a closer look. It was Ink and Error, they looked to be maybe 18, or 19, both of them in suits. Error’s suit was a deep red and unbuttoned to show a light red, almost pink, under shirt, the same locket Sans had seen him wearing nowadays around his neck. He was leaning down slightly, his arm around Ink’s shoulder, who wore a white dress shirt and pants, a salmon vest over top and a matching tie. Both skeletons were smiling brightly at the camera, a soft blush on their cheeks.

“I remember that.” Sans nearly dropped the photo in shock, not realizing Error had come back downstairs. He was smiling softly at the picture. “Ink’s mom took it on our prom night. God, Ink was so excited for that.” He chuckled at the memory. 

“You two always look so happy together.” Sans said with a hum, setting the framed photo back down. “Thank you, again, for letting me sleep here.”

“It’s no big deal. Trust me, I get that family can be shitty sometimes.” His expression darkened, his eyelights still lingering on the photo. “Here, the spare room is upstairs.”

The room wasn’t too big: a bed sat pressed against the south wall, simple light blue sheets covering it, a round end table next to it. There was a dresser next to the door (Sans guessed it would be empty if he looked) and a table and chair was opposite of the bed. Error gave a brief good night, telling Sans to knock on his and Ink’s bedroom door across the hall if he needed anything. The ebony skeleton closed the door behind him, leaving Sans alone in the new room. 

Sighing and turning off the light, Sans dropped onto the bed, not bothering to pull the soft blankets over his body. His bones still felt like they were burning from his anger, his chest felt tight. He tossed and turned through the night, eventually passing out from exhaustion.

A familiar golden hallway greeted him in his dreams, a red eyed child with a knife accompanying it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you all enjoyed this chapter, it was supper fun to write! As always, I'd love to hear y'all's thoughts in the comments <3


	11. ~Chapter 11~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> !Tw: Abuse!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/B5l28mWAbPj/?igshid=8pwo38p4b4fh) or [Tumblr](https://fandomartist1273.tumblr.com/post/189150992336/nisha-i-really-wanted-to-make-a-fanchild-soooo)

Error grunted softly, eyelids fluttering open, his mind still muddled from sleep. He was in his and Ink’s bed, the baby blue walls of their room bathed in early sunlight, Ink still fast asleep next to him. With a yawn, the ebony skeleton rolled over onto his side, not ready to get up and start the day yet, and wrapped his arms around his small fiance, nuzzling the back of his skull. Ink softly sighed, shifting in Error’s arms as he stretched. 

“Mmh… Erry? You awake?” The whispered words were slurred slightly, his hand brushing over Error’s. 

“Nope. I’m sleep-talking right now.” 

Ink let out a soft giggle, wiggling in the taller monster’s arms until he was facing him, his hands and skull resting on the bare red and yellow bones on Error’s rib cage. “Good morning sweetie.”

“Morning hun.” He pressed a kiss to the smaller monster’s lips, resting one of his hands on his hip bone. “How do you feel?”

“Tired. Kinda stressed.” Ink rested his skull against his partner’s chest. “... Safe. I’m sorry I freaked out and ruined the dinner yesterday…”

“You didn’t ruin anything Ink, it’s not your fault that asshole-” Error bit his tongue blowing out a breath of air, letting his shoulders relax. He didn’t want to get mad right now, especially when Ink hadn’t done anything wrong. “Besides, I’m sure Sans didn’t want to stick around after Papyrus showed up.”

“... I remember them yelling, I don’t know what they were saying though…” Ink’s nose scrunched up as he got lost in thought, idly tapping one of Error’s ribs with a finger. “Sans sounded really angry.”

“Yeah, apparently Papyrus knows the three of us are part of the revolution, and everything kind of blew up.” Ink pressed closer to Error, his shoulders tense. The ebony skeleton slowly trailed his hand down the other’s spine, hoping the small touch would relax him. “I let Sans spend the night in the spare room, figured he wouldn’t want to go back after an argument like that.”

The smaller monster nodded, nuzzling into the crook of Error’s neck. They stayed like that for a while, Ink’s smaller frame pressed against the larger monster, Error’s hand rubbing his spine. “Oh, also, I don’t remember getting home?” Ink pulled away slightly, gesturing to his bare rib cage. “Or taking off my clothes?”

Error chuckled, shrugging. “You were fast asleep when we got here and I didn’t want to wake you, so I just took off your dress and tucked you in.” He winked, noticing colour bloom on his lover’s cheeks. “We’ve both slept bare bones before so I just assumed it’d be ok.” 

Ink puffed out his cheeks, poking Error’s chest. “Of course it’s fine, but what if, you know, Sans walked in?”

The black skeleton laughed again. “Babe, he’s older than both of us, I’m sure he knows better than to just walk into a couple’s bedroom unannounced.” He pressed a kiss to his partner’s forehead. “Speaking of, we should probably get out of bed.”

“... Can we shower together?” Error raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, not like that! I mean, I just…”

“‘Course we can hun.” Unlatching himself from his fiance, Error sat up, his bones softly cracking as he stretched. Noticing Ink watching him with large eyelights and a distinct pout - his puppy look, Error’s weakness - he chuckled. “What, do you want me to carry you too?” 

Ink reached his arms out, making grabby hands. He barely stopped himself from giggling, his right eye light switching between a heart and star. “I’m pregnant, you have to.”

Snickering, the taller monster shrugged. “Damn, guess I can’t argue with that.” Error stood, easily taking Ink into his arms; the smaller monster wrapped his arms around his neck, nestling against his ribs, sighing comfortably.   
*****

Sans sighed, dragging his hand down the front of his skull. He felt exhausted, and he was sure he looked like shit. He could hear Ink and Error downstairs, and there was the distinct smell of breakfast in the house. 

His mind drifted back to his brother and the argument, his body going rigid. He shouldn’t have lost his temper, the way his younger brother looked at him afterwards was more than enough to make him regret his words. Their father probably heard the yelling too - would Papyrus tell him the truth? Tell him what Sans was really doing during the day? He cursed softly, pushing off the bed. He hoped not, he hoped his brother would, at the very least, know that it would do no one any good if Asgore knew the truth. Honestly, the goat monster would worry himself to dust, the stress would be torture on his soul. 

His bones felt heavy as he walked down the stairs, like they were filled with weights and not marrow and magic. Still, he pulled up his smile, pushing away his clouded thoughts for now. He didn’t want Ink or Error to think they’ve done something wrong. 

“Oh, good morning Sans!” Ink was sitting at the kitchen table, wearing a simple blue shirt and jeans, and Error stood next to the stove, spatula in hand. “Did you sleep well?”

Sans shrugged, taking a seat next to the other skeleton. “Mhm.” Sure, it was a lie, but he didn’t want to be rude. “Do you need any help Error?”

“Nah, I got it. You like eggs, right?”

Sans chuckled. “Love ‘em.”

“Good, ‘cause it’s up to you two to eat them.”

“He hates eggs.” Ink explained with a giggle. “Usually, he won’t even make them.”

“Honestly, the only reason I’m making them is because you’ve been craving scrambled eggs for the past week, hun.” Error snorted. 

“Oh, that reminds me! There’s something we wanted to talk about with you Sans.” Ink folded his hands in front of him on the table, practically vibrating in his chair. He seemed to be feeling a lot better than he was last night, Sans noted. “You’ve been so kind and helpful to us, with trying to find a way to fix what’s going on with my soul, to the twins… Error and I were talking, and we got to thinking: our kids aren’t going to have any aunts or uncles, since neither of us have siblings, so maybe you could be their pun-loving Uncle Sans?”

Sans’s eyebrows shot up, his smile becoming much more genuine. “Wait, really? You two are serious?”

“Yup, we get it if you aren’t comfortable with it though. It’s just an idea we’ve been throwing around.” Error added, scooping the finished scrambled eggs into a bowl.

“No, no, I’m totally ok with it!” Sans laughed softly, tapping his fingers on the kitchen table. “I’d love that, is what I mean. I’ve always liked being around kids, it would be awesome to be like an uncle to your guys’s baby bones.” 

Ink clapped happily. “See, I told you he’d agree to it, Erry!” Sans laughed again, Error trying to muffle his amused chuckles as well.

“Yeah yeah, you were right again.” He set two plates in front on the table, then grabbed one for himself. “Try to calm down and eat though, hun.” 

The rest of the morning was filled with warm chatter, making Sans’ worries melting away. He knew they’d be back in full force later, probably when he was in bed trying to sleep again, but for now everything was good. 

*****

Usually, Papyrus had no trouble sleeping. As a royal guard, it was very important for him to be well rested, ready for anything. That being said, he usually doesn’t argue with his only brother before trying to go to bed. 

He knew Sans wasn’t happy with him when he joined the guards, his older brother didn’t even try to hide his disappointment, even going so far as trying to convince Papyrus to give up on the dream. It had hurt, knowing someone so close to him was disappointed and not supportive and, at the time, Papyrus was convinced that Sans was just worried he’d get hurt. He thought Sans would eventually get over it and everything would go back to normal.

Looking back on that thought, Papyrus realized just how naive he had been. 

With all that being said, the younger skeleton still couldn’t understand why his brother would even consider joining something like the rebellion group. Yes, he understood now that Sans was on the anti-government side of things, and that alone was enough to make Papyrus want to pull his hair out (if he had any), but a revolution? It was ridiculous! Innocent people will die, and it was just… delusional. King Gaster has maybe made a few mistakes in the past, but he’s a monster just like the rest of them, so it was bound to happen! He still cared about his subjects, still wanted what’s best for them all. He’s the king, he has to feel that way!

Plus, Sans had to have known he’d be up against his own brother - his own blood! Papyrus knew their relationship was rocky right now, but how could Sans be willing to fight against him? Did he really hate the younger skeleton that much? 

Papyrus sighed, sinking down onto his bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he was in this room; it still looked the same. Turns out Asgore never packed up any of his stuff, just dusted and kept it tidy, as if he was waiting for Papyrus to come home. Like he always knew he would. The same race car bed - it was almost too small for him now - the same action figures standing on his bedside table, the same family photo on his wooden dresser. 

It was an old picture now, a simple photo of all the Dreemurr kids with both their parents - Frisk was still so young, a bright smile on their little face as their mother held them up. Everyone was smiling. Everyone was happy. Papyrus couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen Chara really smile, or Sans for that matter. He’d seen his brother smile, he was always smiling, but it wasn’t the same as the easy, carefree grin he wore in the photograph. Seeing those smiles, remembering the past… it made Papyrus feel both happy and very, very… somber.

He desperately missed those times.

He missed his brother’s stupid jokes.

A tear rolled down his cheek bone, and he weakly wiped it away, his soul heavy in his chest. Papyrus slowly slid under the covers of his old bed, pulling the sheets up to his chin. His father had told him he could spend the night after seeing the aftermath of his and Sans’s fight. As far as Papyrus knew, Asgore hadn’t heard from Sans yet, even though it was well past midnight by now. A groan left the tall monster’s lips as he rolled onto his other side. He felt ansty, a storm rolling around in his stomach. The last thing he wanted was to go to work exhausted and feeling anxious like this. He cussed softly, closing his eye sockets tightly.

He didn’t want to hate his brother, he really didn’t. Sans had always been there for him when he was growing up, always there to fend off bullies and to bring Papyrus’s spirits back up. Hell, Sans was the main reason Papyrus could even use magic the way he does nowadays.

But it was obvious that his brother had set all those memories aside. He’s chosen to be Papyrus’s enemy.

There wasn’t much of a choice. Papyrus had to do the same. 

It would hurt, he knew that, but he was ready to do what was right for his king. And if that meant fighting his own brother, then so be it.

*****

Papyrus ended up only getting around four hours of sleep and, by the time he was dressed in his uniform and walking down the creaky stairs, he was berating himself for not trying harder to go to bed earlier. It was going to be a long day.

Rubbing his temple, Papyrus froze at the bottom of the steps. Asgore sat at the kitchen table, coffee mug in hand, watching out the kitchen window. The skeleton hadn’t expected anyone to be up yet, and had honestly hoped he’d be able to slip out of the house unnoticed. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see his family, he really did and would love to have the chance to catch up with them, but after last night the whole house felt wrong to him, like he wasn’t supposed to be there at all. 

As much as he hated to admit it, he really did regret accepting his father’s invite. 

“Good morning Dad.” The goat monster startled, nearly slipping his coffee as he turned to look at his son. There were slight bags under his eyes - turns out Papyrus wasn’t the only one who hadn’t gotten much sleep. Still, the older monster smiled up at the skeleton. 

“You’re certainly up early.” Asgore gestured to the seat next to him, and Papyrus gingerly smiled and sat down, exceedingly aware of the slow passage of time. He’d have to leave soon if he wanted to make it back to the castle in time.

“I’m used to getting up around this time, there’s a strict schedule when it comes to the royal guard.” He pulled at the ends of his gloves, becoming increasingly uncomfortable. There was an elephant in the room, and both monsters knew it, and it was only a matter of time until one of them acknowledged it.“Did you sleep well?”

Asgore shrugged, waving a paw. “Not really, I’m worried about Sans. He still hasn’t called.” Ah, there it was, the elephant. “Have you heard from him…?”

“No.” The answer was sharp, said quickly like the word itself was burning his tongue. “After last night… I doubt my brother will be talking to me anytime soon.” A familiar ache formed in his chest, but Papyrus ignored it. He had to. 

“I’ve never seen you two so upset with each other, you used to be so close.”

Papyrus’s hand clenched into a fist, his shoulders tensing. They had been close, but then Sans had decided that the government wasn’t good enough, all because it wasn’t perfect, because the king wasn’t perfect. They used to be close before Sans decided to hate Papyrus for following his dream. 

The skeleton stood up suddenly, nearly knocking the chair under him onto the ground. “I should get going.”

“What? Papyrus, what’s wrong?”

He ignored him, quickly securing his boots in place and walking out the door.

He had a job to do, and it was clear the house didn’t want him there. Why stay? Why try to reconnect?

It didn’t change the fact that Sans would always hate him, always be disappointed.

It didn’t change that Papyrus hated him too.

*****

“Father…? May I speak with you for a moment?” Dream held his hands behind his back, hoping that would help hide the way they were shaking, and straightened his back. There was a feeling rolling around in the pit of his stomach that he was unfamiliar with: was it anxiety? No, he’d felt that before whenever he spoke in front of crowds of humans and monsters, or when he had a session with his father. This was different, it was a more violent feeling, more overwhelming. It was fear.

To make things harder, his skull felt like it was filled with a mix of bricks and cotton. It was both too heavy for his neck to hold up, but also too light and empty; ready to fly off like a balloon at the same time. What Dr. Alphys had told him last week was still floating around in his head, too. He knew Cross. Not only that, they had been “close”. Close how? Friends? Dream doubted that. He couldn’t remember the man, at least, not really; if he focused hard enough, flickers of memories would flash through his skull, snipits of old conversations. But just thinking of his name made Dream’s soul flutter, fill with warmth. His soul knew the man in a way that convinced Dream that they had been much more than “friends”

So why couldn’t he remember that?

And of course, there was his brother’s “speech” from four days ago. That’s what Gaster had wanted to talk about after Alphys left. Dream had seen the footage, and he couldn’t explain how it made him feel, especially after finding out his father had lied to him. He hated Nightmare because he was dangerous, he was reckless. But was he really? Was that another thing Gaster had lied about? He couldn’t shake the feeling of hate, of pure unfiltered loathing, he felt when he saw his brother standing on that fountain. But when he was shot, when he fell, when that other skeleton ran to him and looked so damn worried… 

Dream felt that worry too. He felt guilty for hating someone who had been so close to him when they were young. He was scared he had died. He still was.

All this was making his skull pound with the promise of a headache. 

“Hm? What is it this time?” The King looked up from something on his desk - the desk was larger than Dream’s, and had more documents piled on it. Though, there were no photos on it - none of him, or Dream, or anyone else from the castle staff. Dream at least had a photo with him and Bethenny (Nightmare was in the photo too, but the Prince had folded the picture in a way that hid the other twin from view).

“I… I must have amnesia.” He tried to keep his tone even, but even Dream heard the waver in his voice when Gaster cocked an eyebrow. “I knew Cross. I looked into the records of all the royal guards and… father, he was my guard! There’s no other logical reason as to why I can’t remember him unless-”

“We’ve had this conversation before, have we not?” The Prince flinched at Gaster’s harsh words, fear threatening to leap out of his throat.

“Well… yes, but… you never answered my question, you never said if I had or hadn’t hit my skull. Father, I know you have lied to me about this! I just want to know who-”

“You ungrateful brat.” Gaster hissed, standing to his full height, towering over Dream. The smaller skeleton gulped, taking a step back. “I teach, I give, I do everything I can to prepare you to be king, and this is how you repay me? By calling me a liar?”

“N-no I… I just want to know who Cross really is, I know he was special to me, I know-” A yelp left his throat as Gaster’s larger, gloved hand wrapped firmly around his neck, pulling him off his feet and slamming his body against the wall with unbelievable force. Dream kicked his legs, hands desperately clawing at the King's hand, his fingers dipping into the hole that lay under those dark gloves, in the center of Gaster’s palm. 

“You are getting on my nerves, Dream. You do know what happens to people who enrage me, do you not?” The prince nodded his skull, gasping out a sob as tears started rolling down his cheeks. “They end up like Bethenny Hunt.” Gaster tightened his grip, Dream choking on the magic forming in his mouth, surfacing to fix whatever was wrong. Funny, his own body trying to heal and protect itself was ultimately making it harder for Dream to take a breath, choking every time he tried. He could feel the bruise foaming on his neck, the bones there threatening to crack under the pressure, his vision going fuzzy. “I’m so tired of wasting my time making you forget that useless guard if it’s not even working on your feeble mind. All you do is accuse me and act like you’re the one in charge.” 

Gaster snarled, throwing Dream to the ground. He gasped for air, coughing up the magic that had flooded his mouth. His hand flew up to rub at his sore neck, tears still falling from his eye sockets. His bones rattled, making soft a clicking sound in the otherwise quiet room. The air was filled with the buzz of the older monster’s magic, looming over Dream like a dark cloud. “From now on, you will respect and obey me. Or else I’ll leave more than just bruises on your bones.” A dark chuckle. “I’m not afraid to break your bones, Dream. One by one. Would you like that? Do you want me to hurt you?” As if to punctuate his point, the king stomped his heel down, crushing one of Dream’s phalanges on the hand he was using to hold himself up. The skeleton screamed, dropping face first onto the carpeted ground, clutching his injured hand to his chest, a whimper leaving his lips. Marrow mixed with blood and yellow magic leaked out from where the finger was crushed. 

“N-no, Father… I’ll be g-good, I promise…” His voice was frail, his soul pounding and aching in his chest.

“Good. Oh, and that’s another thing. Unless we are being filmed or watched by the public, you will address me as ‘your majesty.’ You never were and never will be my son, I’m ashamed to even think of having such a weak and miserable monster as my child. Am I understood?” 

“Yes…” Dream sniffled loudly, bringing up his good hand to wipe away his tears. His vision was blurred slightly from them, and he couldn’t stop his bones from trembling. He was terrified.

He didn’t want to die. 

“Perfect. Now get up, go clean yourself up.” He grinned, but there was no love, no happiness, in it. Just cruel, empty satisfaction. “Next time, I hope you know better than to ask me foolish questions.”

*****

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

Cross sighed, shaking his skull as Killer glared up at him. He hated the way the taller monster always acted like he was a kid, or as if Killer didn’t fully understand the seriousness of the situation. “No, Killer, I’m serious. We need to lay low for a while, a few months at least. Maybe a few small protests around the city, but the guards are on edge, and they’ve started going out of their way to harm us.” The ex-guard’s eyes flickered over to Nightmare, and Killer felt his shoulders tense, overcome with the urge to move closer to the Prince who was sitting silently on a crate. “We need to wait for them to relax a bit, then we can go ahead and do our next big thing.”

“Cross has a point.” Error added, crossing his arms over his chest. Sans stood next to him, hands laid out flat on the plastic table, eyes roaming the notes and maps that cluttered the surface. Ink and Chara sat close to Nightmare, Chara on the grass ground and Ink on a crate like the Prince, his feet hanging off the ground. “It’s too dangerous to take serious action right now. It’s pretty clear the guards aren't afraid to kill us, we need the element of surprise again if we want to survive.”

“Yeah? Well they nearly killed Nightmare already!” Killer hissed out between his teeth, his face hot with anger. “We should be making a show that we aren’t something they can just fuck with!”

“That’s too reckless, Killer. I get that you’re upset, but-”

“An eye for an eye, right? Doesn’t have to be big, we already know I can get into the castle, I’ll just kill the fucker in his sleep.”

“An eye for an eye and the whole world goes blind.” Sans muttered, turning his head up to meet Killer’s pinprick eyelights. For once, the older skeleton wasn’t smiling. “You’ll get your chance to fight them eventually Killer, but if you let revenge fuel your decisions you’re just going to get yourself killed. And none of us want to see that.”

Killer grunted, crossing his arms defensively. He knew Sans was right about the part about getting himself killed, but god damn it, he hated the idea of the person who hurt Nightmare still out there, just waiting to do it again. “Then what do we do then, huh?”

“We lay low and wait a few months.” Error pointed to the marked map on the table. “Plan a few, small protests here and there so we don’t lose relevance, but we don’t go near the castle until we’re sure we’re ready.”

“Ready for what?” Killer gestured to Ink. “You got him back, you showed the public that Nightmare is alive and not a power crazed lunatic. What’s next?”

“Get Dream back…” Nightmare said softly, folding his arms around himself. Killer wanted to scoff, question why the hell Nightmare would even care about that yellow prick after what he’s done but, instead, he bit his tongue. It didn’t make sense to Killer, maybe because he sure as hell didn’t care about his family, but Nightmare still loved his brother. Killer knew that. Even if he wished the Prince would let it go since Dream had hurt him, called him things that would sit in the back of his mind like bombs ready to blow; the small monster didn’t have the heart to push him to forget about Dream. Not when he would smile and laugh when he told stories of his childhood. He didn’t want Nightmare to lose that strange, childlike glee like Killer had.

“Not yet.” Error sighed. “We need to somehow resurface some memories first. Just kidnapping him won’t do us any good, we need him to be at least somewhat willing to come here.”

“How are you going to do that? Chara finally spoke up, hugging her knees to her chest. It still felt a little odd to Killer that she was here - the only human in the bunch - but he had to admit she wasn’t too bad when it came to magic, though there was certainly room for improvement. “I’ve been watching the new casts from the castle and the speeches. He doesn’t show any signs of being upset or at all against the king.”

“If he really is brainwashed, like Cross said, then he would act however Gatser wants him too. He doesn’t remember Cross, and he doesn’t remember the good parts of Nightmare and those memories aren’t going to come back easily.” Sans tapped the table, eyes flickering between the monsters and the human around him. “But you can’t brainwash souls. They react to people the monster, or human, is close to in different ways. For example, even if Dream can’t remember Cross, his soul will still react in a positive way when Dream sees or talks to him. He'll feel a sort of warm, comforting feeling, a little buzzy.”

Cross raised a hand to his chest, eyes dropping to the ground. “The feeling of love…”

“Exactly, my friend.” Sans snapped his fingers, giving a small smile to Cross. “If you can provoke that feeling for long enough, some memories may come back to him. If we could get you two to meet on the battlefield, close enough that you could talk to him… bring up things you’ve done together, dates, conversations, anything that would create that feeling of love… then bingo. That could be enough to create a domino effect and he’ll be willing to join us here.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” Cross said with a little too much force, slamming his hands onto the table. “Once he’s here, we’ll really be able to help him, he can-”

“Woah, woah, woah, slow down Cross.” Sans held up his hands defensively, his smile dropping again. “This is all a theory. I’m pretty confident it could work but there’s a lot of things to consider. For one, we don’t even know if Dream will ever be amongst the guards in battle.”

“There could be side effects of whatever Gaster is doing to him to keep him brainwashed.” Error added.

“So it’s all hopeless.” Quirking an eyebrow at the oldest monster, Killer couldn’t help but notice the way Cross’s body sank in defeat at Sans’ words. Killer still kind of hated him, but he had to admit he felt a bit bad for the guy. If he was in this kind of situation with Nightmare…

Well, he didn’t love Nightmare (at least, that’s what he thought), but he knew he’d be trying his best to get him back too.

“Didn’t say that.” Sans hummed, standing up straight and stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “It’s the best plan we’ve got right now, but we need to be mindful of the things that could interfere.” The group fell silent after that, tension hanging over them like a thick blanket. Killer saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye socket - Nightmare sliding off the old crate, slowly moving closer until he stood next to the smaller skeleton. Killer didn’t say anything when he felt the other monster grab his hand, only to silently squeeze it in what he hoped was a comforting way. 

“Hey… here’s an idea.” Sans spoke up first, unsurprising since he was usually the one to relax situations. The jokester of the group, the carefree one. “We’ve all been really focused on this stuff without any breaks for a while now, so, you know, I think we should take the rest of the night off and just have a little fun; act normal for a night.”

“Newsflash, none of us are normal anymore, pretty sure we’re wanted criminals since the crown literally wants us dead.” Killer pursed his lips under his mask, feeling Nightmare’s grip on his hand tighten. 

“Hence why I said ‘act’” Smile back in place, Sans winked. Killer resisted rolling his eyes, even though he had to admit it was comforting to see the other monster back in his joking mood. “I know this cute, family run bakery on the other side of town - they’ve got great coffee and Muffet, the current owner, makes the best pastries I’ve ever had - and it’s right next to a park that has this river running through it, I used to study there all the time. I say we all go get some coffee or tea or whatever, get some snacks, and just spend an hour or two relaxing for once.” The monster looked between his group of friends, hands extended. “Any takers?”

“Yes! That’s a great idea!” Ink said, hopping off his crate, giving his fiance a knowing look. “Don’t tell me you took a break last week when we had that dinner, you need this Erry.” He latched onto his partner’s arm, leaning into his chest. “You’re going to stress yourself into an early grave.”

“...Yeah, ok. We can spend a night doing nothing.” Leaning down, Error pressed a kiss to his fiance's temple.

“I’ll come too.” Cross added softy, raising his hand. “I could use the distraction, I guess.”

“Well I have to come, since you’re my ride home.” Chara rolled her eyes, pushing off of the ground. There was a hint of a smile on her lips. 

Nightmare tugged gently on Killer’s hand, bringing the small monster’s attention back to him. His eyelights were wide in their sockets, his lips twitching up into a smile. He was obviously trying to ask Killer if they could go with his eyes, and it made Killer snort. Why would Night ask him that? If he wanted to go he could go by himself. Still, he shrugged his shoulders, biting down a remark about how much of a puppy Nightmare could be. “Yeah, we’ll come too.”

“Perfect!” Sans claps his hands, strutting towards the iron gate of the orphanage. “All of you are going to get a spider donut, I’m not taking no for an answer.”

*****

“How’re you holding up?” Chara felt her heart thunder in her chest, crossing her arms over her chest, keeping her eyes glued to the ex-guard leaning his body against the tree in front of her. She wasn’t a nervous person, but Cross was literally the Prince’s lover, so of course she’s going to be a bit nervous talking to him. 

Truthfully, she could have just crossed the bridge to the other side of the lake, where her brother was talking happily with Ink and Error. However, she didn’t want to intrude on them, and she was just happy Sans actually had friends his own age for once. She also didn’t care enough about whatever boring adult stuff they were probably talking about. She could have joined Nightmare and Killer on the bridge, sitting over the clear water, but then she would feel like a third wheel (As far as Chara knew, the two skeletons weren’t actually an item yet, but come on; the romantic tension around them was so thick you could cut it with a steak knife). 

And that left her with Cross. He hadn’t said much on the long walk here and, after the short stop at Muffet’s Bakery, he’d split off from the group to stand here. Maybe he wanted to be alone, but Chara was left with no other choice, so there she was.

Cross cocked an eyebrow at her, frowning. “I’m fine? What do you want?”

She shrugged, sitting cross legged on the grass next to him. “Someone to talk to.” 

“Yeah? Well, it looks like your brother and his pals are having a great conversation over there, so why don’t you go join them, huh?” Chara narrowed her eyes at the skeleton, determination swelling inside her chest. Oh, he was not getting rid of her that easily. 

“And listen to more of his jokes? No way. I think I’ll stay right here.”

Cross snorted, his eyes finally dropping to look at her. “Fine, what about jackass and the prince over there?”

The redhead lagged at the nickname he’d given to Killer, but she shook her head. “Nope again. I’m not going anywhere.” She flashed a grin at the skeleton standing next to her, who only rolled his eyes.

“Suit yourself.” He huffed, crossing his arms. 

It was a cool night, making Chara glad that she had her sweater. The trees' leaves were yellow, orange and red, a few falling to the ground whenever a gust of wind passed, signalling fall had arrived. The city’s lights shone through the few trees in the park, bathing the grass and trunks with blues and pinks. Still, the park was a lot darker than the main streets, mainly lit up by a few lampposts. 

A few minutes passed, and it seemed Cross got bored with his silent act. Or maybe the way Chara just stared at him convinced him to say something (she was the second youngest in her family, she knew how to annoy people into paying attention to her). “I’ve seen you practicing your magic at the camp, you’re not half bad. Who taught you?”

“Sans. He wanted me to be able to defend myself if I got in a hairy situation.” She had been ten the first time Sans showed her that she could use magic too, and at the time she had been absolutely enthralled. She spent months researching the history of magic and how it affects monsters and humans alike. Long story short, she now knew way too many random and useless magic facts. 

Cross hummed, eyes watching a billboard that just barely poked through the trees. It was advertising some kind of magic energy drink, supposedly it boosted someone's abilities indefinitely. Sounded fake to Chara. “Some improvement and proper training would do you some good.”

The human girl scoffed. “Gee, thanks.”

“I’m trying to say I could train you.” 

“... wait, deadass?”

Cross gave her an odd look, then shook his skull, muttering, “Fucking teenagers and their weird slang…” Chara snorted. “But yes, I’ve been in the royal guard basically my whole life, I know my shit when it comes to training folks like you. Though they usually aren’t so young…”

“... Thank you.”

“Whatever.” He shrugged, pushing off the tree and pushing his hands into the pockets of the old jacket he wore. “I mainly just don’t want to see a kid get killed out there.”

“I’m sixteen.”

“Exactly, you’re still a child.” He turned on his heel, walking away from the bridge.

“Wait, where are you going?” 

“Somewhere I can actually think.” He waved a hand behind him. “You should go home kid, it’s late.”

*****

Killer jolted slightly when he felt a pressure against his shoulder, his body going rigid. It was just Nightmare, he was the only other one sitting on the stone bridge, and the only one close enough to lean against him, but he was just so close; Killer could feel the warmth radiating from his soul, hear his soft breaths. He cursed himself for acting so damn soft all of the sudden, contouring his lips back into a frown.

“What are you doing?”

“Sweets make me sleepy…” The Prince’s words slurred slightly, and he nuzzled against Killer's shoulder. The smaller monster’s breath caught in his throat, panic rising though his system. He was trying so damned hard not to succumb to his stupid feelings for the skeleton and just keep him at arms length, just keeps him as a friend; but for fuck’s sake, did Nightmare need to make it so hard?

After the incident last week, Killer realized just how fucked he really was. It was so stupid, and he knew that. He’d been able to go for years without a stupid crush, without stupid friends. And now here he was, friends with the long lost Prince and crushing hard. But then Nightmare got hurt, got shot, all because Killer hadn’t been able to protect him. He’d been so focused on Nightmare, on the way his hands always moved when he talked, like he was writing his words as he spoke them. The way his eyelights grew in size when he noticed Killer in the alley way. The way he smiled when the smaller monster gave him a simple thumbs up. He still wished he’d killed the asshole who fired the bullet, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it with Nightmare behind him, bleeding on the ground. Killer had been terrified. He’d been enraged with himself for not being more observant. 

And then he had cried in front of Nightmare If that wasn’t bad enough, he had also thrown up later that night, the black magic relentless against his throat, which Nightmare had seen too. Killer hated it, hated that he had seen him so weak, so fucking broken.

Yet, Nightmare never shied away. If anything, he seemed closer to Killer than he had before.

Which just made trying to avoid his crush a lot harder for Killer. 

Nightmare’s skull slid off the other skeleton’s shoulder until he rested his head on Killer’s lap and yawned.

“Woah, hey, what are you doing-” No answer. The Prince’s eyes were closed and his breathing was steady and even. Was he…? “Hey, Night?” Killer gently poked his cheek, earning a sleepy mumble. 

Well fuck. 

Killer felt his cheeks warm under his mask, a smile tugging at his lips. Soft snores left Nightmare’s mouth, his nose twitching in his sleep. It was utterly adorable.

Apprehensively, he slid his mask off his face, his eyelights blown wide and fuzzy. His chest was warm, filled with something Killer hadn’t felt in years.

He was so scared, scared of Nightmare dying, or getting bored of him. He didn’t know how he could ever let Nightmare into his life as more than a friend (assuming the Prince felt the same way, which was unlikely) when he knew everyone else who had “loved” him had left; had just left without a word, without regret. Killer didn’t think he could handle that again, and the thought of losing more people made him feel both angry and so unbelievably empty.

But Nightmare made him feel again, really feel. Around Nightmare, he felt happy, he felt love. He was able to forget his rage for a few moments when he saw the other man smile, he was able to forget just how alone he was whenever Nightmare laughed.

And maybe, for right now, that was ok. Later, he would go back to worrying about how he was going to keep up the ‘I don’t have feelings for this monster’ act. He would go back to wondering when the hell Nightmare had become the only person to ever sneak under his walls, the only person to ever break down Killer’s defenses and get a glimpse at the mess he really was. But right now, someone he loved was sleeping in his lap, and looking absolutely perfect in blue light.

Killer felt happy, felt safe and, for now, that was ok.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Just a heads up that school starts on sept 8th for me, so it's probably going to take longer for chapter updates, so please be patient with me <3


	12. ~Chapter 12~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> !tw: depression, mention of suicidal thoughts!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/B5l28mWAbPj/?igshid=8pwo38p4b4fh) or [Tumblr](https://fandomartist1273.tumblr.com/post/189150992336/nisha-i-really-wanted-to-make-a-fanchild-soooo)

With a sigh, Killer folded up the piece of paper Sans had scribbled a shopping list onto, stuffing it into his pants pocket. He understood they needed to kill time before protesting at the castle, and it’d only been a month so far, so they had to keep waiting; but a camping trip? Really? 

The whole thing had been Sans’s idea (of course it had, Sans always thought of this kind of shit) and the others had latched onto it. A week away from the orphange, a week of acting like “a dumb group of college students” - Sans’s words, not Killer’s. And of course, everyone wanted to go, even Cross; which surprised the small skeleton. Cross didn’t seem like the “relaxing” type. Killer had originally planned on staying back, maybe a week away from Nightmare would help him clear his head, work out his feelings. But the look the Prince had given him later that night when he said he wasn’t going…

Killer just couldn’t say no to that.

So here he was, stuck shopping for camping supplies with Nightmare, the dreaded trip a few days away. The others had insisted they change their clothes before leaving though, since they were both pretty recognizable at this point. Sans had lent Killer some of his old clothes; a red turtleneck and dark red jacket. Other than that, he still had his same pants on, and he’d been able to keep his necklace, but Error had scolded him when Killer asked to keep his mask. Of course, something like that would bring more attention to the two of them. He idly ran his tongue over one of his fangs, still not used to people being able to see them so openingly like this.

Nightmare, on the other hand, had been able to borrow an outfit from Ink - simple blue jeans and a white shirt with a purple flower on the front, Killer had guessed it was an iris, but he wasn’t 100% sure, and a fluffy jacket covered his arms. The clothes were a bit small for the prince, making the outfit look almost skin tight, and Killer would be lying if he said he didn’t like the way the jeans hugged Nightmare’s legs and hips. Nightmare also had a light blue, almost white, bandana tied around his skull, covering up his right eye and his scar. At least this way it wasn’t likely anyone would bother them. 

“Do you think we’ll need a cooler?”

Killer’s eyes lazily roamed the store. It wasn’t too big, but still pretty busy, monsters lingering in front of products, comparing prices and sales. He’d never been in this store before, but then again, he stole most of the things he needed, and wouldn’t dare try something like this. Security cameras littered the ceiling, and it was in the wealthier part of the city. A part he usually tried to avoid like the plague. Truthfully, Killer felt wrong standing there, like he’d entered someplace restricted. “Error said that he and Ink had one, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right.” Nightmare hummed, leaning down, picking up a box of graham crackers, eyeing it. “Do you think these will be good?” 

“Sure.” Killer rocked on his heels, taking a deep breath as he watched Nightmare set the box into the basket hanging off his arm, next to a small package of chocolate. This all felt so… domestic. Almost like they were a family. Like they were married.

He immediately pushed the thought away, scolding himself for even thinking something like that. They were friends, just friends, and wasn’t Killer supposed to be finding a way to get rid of his crush on Nightmare? The Prince looked up to him from the ground with a smile, and oh my god did he not realize how suggestive that looked from Killer’s point of view? The smaller skeleton’s cheeks bloomed with colour, much to his frustration. “This is fun! It’s so nice to do normal things like this after everything… plus, I’ve never gone shopping before!”

“Neither have I.” Killer kept his eyes glued to the shelf next to them until he was sure Nightmare was standing again, dusting off his knees. 

“Really?”

“Well, yeah.” Nightmare took hold of Killer’s hand, and the small skeleton didn’t even try to push him away, liking the warmth. He was giving in too much, he knew that, and he should be trying to push Nightmare away, but he just couldn’t resist giving in to these simple things. God, what was wrong with him? “I live in the slums, meaning I’m poor and homeless.” 

“Oh, right… well, that just means this is something we can experience for the first time together!” Killer gave a small smile, not sure if the fact that they had never gone grocery shopping before, even though they were both into their twenties, was anything to be proud or happy about. 

“What else do we need… marshmallows and hotdogs?” 

“Yeah, and buns. Plus Sans really wanted us to get ketchup, so that too.” Killer clucked his tongue, eyes landing on the shopping basket Nightmare carried in his other hand. “What’s with the crackers and chocolate, anyways?”

They stopped in front of the frozen meat section, the Prince letting go of Killer’s hand to look closer at the different brands of hotdogs. Killer really hoped Night actaully knew what he was looking at, because personally he couldn’t see a god damn difference between the different packages besides their dumb labels. “Ink suggested we all make s’mores on the trip!”

The shorter monster squinted his eyes, crossing his arms. “What the fuck are s’mores?”

Nightmare looked back at him from over his shoulder, eyebrows drawing in confusion. “...You don’t know what they are?” 

“If I did, do you think I’d be asking?”

“No, I guess not.” He set a pack of hotdogs into the basket, apparently having found one he thought was good enough. “I’ll make sure to make you one then! I bet you’ll love it!”

Killer shrugged, slightly disappointed Nightmare didn’t grab his hand again, instead just walking beside him, a slight skip in his step. “Whatever you say.” Nightmare giggled, making Killer’s soul flutter.

He loved that sound so damn much.

*****

Killer shifted his weight to his other foot, adjusting the tent bag in his arms, Nightmare scanning their shopping basket, making sure they had everything. “Don’t you feel kind of weird using Sans’s credit card to buy all this shit?”

The Prince startled, looking around as if Killer had said something illegal - which he hadn’t, but the reaction was a bit cute nonetheless - then turned back to him, voice hushed. “I guess… he said it was fine though, since this was his idea.” 

“Yeah, well,” He lowered his voice to a whisper, leaning closer to his friend, a smirk teasing the edge of his lips. “Think about how much cheaper it would be to just steal all this instead?”

Nightmare gasped, playfully smacking one of his arms, making Killer chuckle. “Killer! You can’t do that!”

“I totally could and you know it.” 

The other skeleton stuck out his tongue. “Maybe, but you shouldn’t!”

“I’m going to do it when you turn around, you know.” Killer couldn’t hold back his snicker when Nightmare puffed out his cheeks, placing his hand on his hip. 

“Alright then mister, go wait outside if you won’t behave.” The shorter of the two quirked an eyebrow. “Please..?”

“As you wish, your highness.” Killer winked, Nightmare’s nose scrunching at the nickname, and set the tent bag on the counter next to the cash register. “But I’m taking this with me.” He raised his arm enough to let Nightmare glimpse down the jacket sleeve, revealing a simple, red lighter, then ducked out of the line and out the store doors before he could hear his friend’s complaints, laughing softly to himself. 

It was a brisk afternoon, the wind blowing red and yellow leaves off the branches of the trees planted around the shopping square. The clouds rolling in the sky seemed to promise at least a bit of snow. It wouldn’t be long until winter was officially here - December was only a few months away - and Killer was already dreading the cold. He could handle it, he always did, but it always made his bones feel numb and hollow, and not to mention how it always brought memories with it that Killer would rather forget about. 

With a sigh, Killer leaned his weight onto the light pole outside of the store; there were a lot less people out here than there were in the store, much to Killer’s relief. It would give him time to think in peace for a few minutes. 

It just didn’t make sense to him. Whenever he was thinking about his obvious attraction and feelings for Nightmare, he felt like it was something that needed to be stomped out, something he was supposed to hate. And yet, whenever he actually talked or interacted with the prince… it all came so naturally. Making jokes, brief touches, smiles and laughs, they all felt right in those situations. It made him feel warm, and comfortable, like he didn’t need to hide. That he was safe to just act freely.

That he was loved.

But he couldn’t help but wonder if that really was wrong. Sure, it felt good, but not everything that felt good was right, and vise versa. He was supposed to be alone, wasn’t he? Wasn’t that what he decided? Even if this was supposed to happen, even if it was somehow right, how could it ever work long term? Nightmare was his friend, and he only saw Killer as such, and Killer… well, no matter how hard he denied, it did like Night a lot more than a friend should. 

If Killer told him that, it would just ruin all of this. Their friendship, conversations, all down the drain. He was a street rat, and Nightmare was a prince, they just weren’t meant to end up together. Besides, after Dream is back to his normal self, why would Nightmare even stay friends with Killer? He wouldn’t need the short monster anymore, not when he had his dear brother back. 

“Killer…?”

Every inch of his body tensed, his soul suddenly pounding as his eyelights shrunk to pinpricks. He knew that voice.

He lifted his head slowly, already knowing who he’d see, dread filling his chest. She was only a few feet from him, her hands hanging limp at her sides as she stared at him. How similar they looked was enough to make Killer sick - they had the same short stature, the same fangs, the same small eyelights that always made people at least a little bit uneasy. 

His mother. 

“Oh, Killer, it’s you… my son, I never thought I’d see you again…” She reached for his hand, and Killer flinched away, batting her hand away. He scowled, a familiar pain settling on his chest. What the hell was she doing here?!

“Don’t give me that.” He hissed, his mother’s face shifting - first to surprise, and then to nothing. She was a blank canvas, no emotions to be seen. Killer wanted to scoff, the least she could do is show a little regret. “You’re the one who abandoned me.”

“I had to… Killer, after your father left I…”

“Do you think I give a shit?!” The automatic doors to the grocery store opened with a whoosh, but Killer paid no attention to it. Pent up anger for his mother was boiling in his ribcage, so close to spilling out his mouth. “I was twelve-fucking-years-old! And you just left me in that shitty old house! Like I was nothing!”

“Killer… you know I love you, I just…”

“NO. YOU. FUCKING. DON’T!” That was the tipping point, rage overflowing from ever crack in his bones, radiating from him like heat from the sun. “If you actually cared you would have stayed! You would have been there! But you fucking left me!” Tears were forming in his eyes, and he hated it. He hated his mother. He hated every goddamn monster who was surrounding and watching them like they were part of a circus show.

He hated himself. 

“It’s your fucking fault I push everyone away, your fault I’m so scared of getting close to anyone because I just expect them to leave like you did! Because of you I know just how much of a shit son I am!” A tear rolled down his cheek, falling to the ground. Someone put a hand on his shoulder, calling his name. Killer pushed them away. “And you know what? I get it! I know why you left! I mean, look at me! I just wish you would have killed me too, at least that way I wouldn’t have to deal with doing it myself!” 

His throat burned, and his breath came out in short, hot gasps. Turning on his heel, he pushed past the crowd of monsters. Someone was calling to him - he couldn’t tell if it was his stupid fucking mother or someone else, but he didn’t care. He wanted out of here. Now. 

He only made it a few blocks before he felt a burning sensation in his throat. Ducking into an alley, he grasped at the building wall as he upchucked, the sticky, black magic splattering onto the concrete and beginning to well up in his eyes. He choked, his legs threatening to give out on him, the burning sensation was unbearable. A sob left him when he was finally able to catch his breath, his soul aching in his chest. 

Why did she have to be there?

Why would she come back?

With a shaking hand, Killer wiped at his mouth and eyes, gasping for a full breath as he desperately tried to fight back more tears. The sky seemed darker now, the alleyway shrouded in shadows as large snowflakes fell from above, beginning to pile on the ground.

Why did hearing those words - “You know I love you” - hurt so much to hear?

*****

There were a lot of things Nightmare didn’t understand about Killer.

For one, he didn’t understand why he always wore that red mask - his guess was that the small monster wanted to hide his fangs but that didn’t make much sense to Nightmare. Personally, he really liked the other’s sharp teeth.

He didn’t understand why the small monster was so cuddly when he was asleep, either, but he wouldn’t complain about that. Feeling Killer’s arms around him at night made him feel safe, and warm, and made his soul burst with joy.

Nightmare also didn’t fully understand what happened outside of the grocery store earlier that day. But he was smart enough to know Killer was not ok after that. 

His eyes roamed the front of the dilapidated four story building, a shiver coursing through his body from the chill air. The sun had almost completely set, the sky still overcast with dark clouds. At least it had stopped snowing. 

After Killer’s fight, he had run off, and Nightmare had been left alone near the front of the store, despite him calling for his friend to come back. He knew he should have followed him, but he’d been frozen, scared, his soul burning. He didn’t know who this woman was - probably Killer’s mother, given how she talked to him and how similar they looked - but it was clear she had hurt Killer in unforgettable ways. The thought alone made Nightmare grit his teeth.

He wasn’t a hateful person.

But he hated that woman with all his soul.

So he slapped her. Hard.

He didn’t know what willed him to do it, but it had felt right at the time. She yelled at him afterwards - “What the hell is wrong with you? You fucking freak!” - but Night did his best to ignore it, the same way Killer would have. He took his bags and left (It had been an utter pain to get back to the camp, nearly dropping his bags multiple times and getting lost once)

It wasn’t till he got to the orphanage that everything clicked: Killer wasn’t with him. Everything Killer had said… Nightmare knew that his friend had problems he wasn’t open with but he had assumed they weren’t that bad; weren’t to the point of saying he wished he was dead.

Nightmare couldn’t remember much of that moment when he dropped the plastic bags onto the ground, his knees weak, but he knew he cried, and Sans and Ink had been there trying to calm him down and figure out where Killer was. He had pushed them away, blabbering. 

He sort of regretted not answering any of their questions before leaving again.

But he needed to make sure Killer was ok. 

Hence why he was scaling an old pipe of an old, dirty building. 

He huffed, reaching the top, pulling his body onto the steel roof. And Killer was there. Nightmare almost sobbed in relief at seeing his small frame curled up under the pile of blankets in his little shelter, twirling his necklace’s red pendant between his fingers. The ache in his chest strengthened when he noticed the tear streaks on Killer’s cheeks.

Silently, he sat down on the roof next to him, not daring to reach out and hold the smaller monster’s hand just yet.

After a minute of silence, Killer sniffled, stubbornly wiping his eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I came looking for you. I was worried.”

He didn’t look up and meet Nightmare’s eye’s, keeping his small eyelights glued to his hands. “Why?” He scoffed. “Why the fuck do you care?”

“Because-”

“And don’t give me that stupid ‘you’re my friend’ excuse.”

Nightmare balled his hands into fists, blowing a breath out of his nose. “Because I care about you Killer. And I know… I know you’re not a very open person, and I don’t expect you to tell me everything right now, but… but I want to help you, and to do that I need to know what happened back there.”

“Why the fuck would you want to help?” Killer snarled, finally lifting his head and making eye contact. Black stains trailed down his skull under his eye sockets and mouth, dull red tears in the corner of his eyes. “Look at me Nightmare. I’m a fucking mess. Why do you get from trying to help a stupid… mistake like me?” His voice wavered, a tear sliding down his cheek.

“... I get to see you smile.” Nightmare’s voice was soft, and he slowly reached out and placed his hand over Killer’s. The smaller skeleton flitched, but didn’t pull away. “I get to hear you laugh. I get to see you happy.” 

Killer dropped his skull down again, his shoulder’s trembling as his fingers curled around Nightmare’s hand. “... you know, this stupid necklace I wear, it was from her. My mom.” So he had been right, that the lady from the store was related to Killer. “I have no fucking idea why I still wear it, I just… whenever I try to get rid of it my chest gets so tight and it becomes hard to breath… and I just can’t. And it makes me so… angry.” He took a deep breath, his body still trembling, but Nightmare had a feeling that wasn’t because of the cold. “I’ve never told anyone this…”

“Take your time, Killer. I’m not going anywhere.” He rubbed his thumb over the other’s knuckles, and Killer nodded slowly.

“I’ve always lived in the slums. I was born here, it’s all I’ve known. I didn’t even know it was the ‘bad’ part of town back then. I thought it was good, because I had a family, my mom and dad. And then dad left when I was ten, the fucking… asshole.” His grip tightened on Nightmare’s hand to the point that it was almost painful, but he didn’t pull away. “Mom became distant, she wouldn’t do anything. I started taking care of us. That’s when I first learned how to steal without being caught. We stopped eating regular meals though, and you can see how that affected me. Don’t need meals now but when monster’s are growing up we sure as hell do.” He laughed, but it was empty. “Either way, I did a pretty good job considering I was literally a child. But then, two years later, my mom finally shows some life again and it’s to tell me we’re going to have a real Christmas this year, like normal people. I was so fucking excited. I woke up on Christmas morning and she was gone. Just.. without a word. And I never saw her again… until today.

The funny part is, I always try to tell myself that I’m mad at her, she abandoned me, so of course I would be pissed. But really? I’m just so fucking tired, Night. Tired of knowing I’m a shitty person, not… not good enough for love. I mean, why would my own parents leave unless it was my fault?” He sniffed again, eyelights flickering in his sockets. Nightmare hated seeing him so upset, wanting nothing more than to take all the pain away. Scooting closer, he pulled Killer into his arms, hugging him to his chest. The smaller monster leaned into the touch, a strangled sob leaving his throat as he grabbed at the fabric of the shirt covering Nightmare’s spine. “S-so I decided I would just… be alone. Forever. Because if I never let anyone close, I’ll never feel that soul splitting pain again. And then out of fucking nowhere, you appeared.” Killer pressed closer, freely crying now. “And I know, I fucking know I should push you away so I don’t get hurt again but god, I don’t want to. I don’t want to feel so fucking alone, and numb and empty anymore.” 

Nightmare ran his hand over Killer’s back, moving in slow circles. When the other’s sobs started to quiet, he spoke up, keeping his voice low. “You don’t need to be alone, Killer, not ever again.” The small skeleton shook his skull, mumbling something, but Nightmare just pulled away slightly, cupping his face. “I swear to you. I’m never, ever going to leave, because I’ll always care about you.” Killer’s eye lights grew slightly, wavering in their sockets. “And one day, you’ll find your person, a person who loves you so damn much.” he wanted to add, and it’s me. He wanted to say it so, so badly. “Who knows, maybe you’ve already met them!” 

Killer snorted, looking away as his cheek bones turned red. “That’s ridiculously optimistic.”

“The point is, you’ll always have me Kills.” 

Killer didn’t say anything, but he did flop down onto his back, arms still around Nightmare so the Prince fell with him, landing on his chest. The blankets puffed up around them, almost like a valley. Nightmare felt his face warm, but he snuggled closer, his soul filled with butterflies.

“...ok.” Killer nuzzled the top of Nightmare’s skull, making his soul scream in his chest, so full of love it felt like it would burst. “...And I’ll always be here for you, too.”

They stayed like that for a while. Nightmare eventually lost track of time, listening to the steady beat of Killer’s soul from inside his ribcage, the sound was relaxing. “Should we… go back? I didn’t exactly tell anyone that I was going to get you when I left, and they’re all probably pretty worried…”

Killer hummed, a hand coming up to cup the back of Nightmare’s skull. The Prince leaned happily into the touch. “Can we just… stay like this for a few more minutes?”

With a small smile, Night brought a hand up to rub Killer’s cheek. The other skeleton looked down at him, a small, nervous smile playing on his lips. “I would like that.”

Nightmare would gladly do anything if it meant he could stay this close to Killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I know this is a bit shorter than usual, but this and the next few chapters are just gonna be filler before we get back to the big, serious plot points, so more fluff and domestic thing (I mentioned the camping trip which you will all get to read about next time!)  
> Also I really wanted to bring up just how amazing you all are?? Like thank you all so much for the support on this! It means so much to me <3


	13. ~Chapter 13~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/B5l28mWAbPj/?igshid=8pwo38p4b4fh) or [Tumblr](https://fandomartist1273.tumblr.com/post/189150992336/nisha-i-really-wanted-to-make-a-fanchild-soooo)

“This is so stupid.” Killer huffed, sinking further into his carseat, his arms crossed over his chest. Cross scoffed from the front of the van - it belonged to Asgore; Sans had convinced his father to let him borrow it for the trip, having told the goat monster that he was going out with friends for the week - and turned in his seat to glare at the smaller monster. 

“Why the hell did you come if all you’re going to do is complain?”

Killer just rolled his eyes, pulling the hood of his sweater up. Sans had once again insisted that they wear different clothes, even though they'd be alone in the woods all week. 

He'd opted for a hoodie and a t-shirt this time, and he had stuffed his mask into one of the pockets - even if he wasn't wearing it, he didn't feel comfortable leaving it behind. The shirt was simple and had the words “fun sized!” on it, and he'd protested against wearing the stupid thing, but Nightmare had picked it out for him.

And, well, Killer still couldn’t say no to him. 

“I swear to god if you two fight all week-” Error muttered with a huff, Ink giggling from the seat next to him. They’d been stuck in the stupid car for over an hour now, and Error expected Killer not to butt heads with the damn ex-guard? He must be delusional. The two skeletons had argued practically the whole way, and it wasn’t like that was going to stop anytime soon.

“Nuh-uh, we agreed that everyone is going to be well behaved on this trip!” Sans chirped from the front seat - again, Killer didn’t see the point in saying that, since it clearly wasn’t going to happen - and parked the car between two oak trees, leaves crunching softly under the tires. Killer fought down the urge to push out of the van the minute it stopped moving, feeling way too crowded in the small space. Though, he didn’t mind having Nightmare sit so close to him, but he wouldn’t admit that out loud. “Aaaand we’re here.”

“You took us… to the middle of nowhere?” Cross rested his skull against the window, his eyelights lazily moving to look at Sans with a raised eyebrow.

“Bingo bango. I like to be- _leaf_ that the best camping trips happen when you have absolutely no idea where you are.” Sans snickered, turning in his seat to look at the others, his smile seeming to grow at the chorus of groans - Nightmare and Ink did softly giggle though, so Killer supposed he could have been smiling at that.

“Let’s just unload the trunk.” Error rolled his eyes, undoing his seat belt. There was a smile tugging at his lips. The tall man had seemed pretty excited for this trip after Ink convinced him the camp would be fine for a week, and Killer had to admit it was nice to see the black skeleton relaxing for once. He hadn’t realized how tense Error had been running the rebellion until now. 

Nightmare squeezed out of the back of the van first, Killer’s cheeks warming as he mentally forced himself from staring at his ass - he was wearing those damn tight pants again - and followed after him, having a much easier time doing so. One advantage of being short and having small bones, he supposed, and hopped out onto the ground.

The air was crisp and fresh, free of the city pollution so far out of town. Trees surrounded them, large and looming up into the sky and blocking out most of the sun with their yellow, red, and orange leaves, some of which fluttered to the ground whenever there was a gust of wind. Just past the trees to his left, Killer was sure he could see a lake, and there was a clearing close to the car. That must be where Sans planned on setting up the tents, Killer mused. 

Sans popped open the trunk, his eyes scanning over the bags. “Hm.. that’s strange..”

“What is?” Killer huffed, coming up to his side to look past him, into the car. He couldn’t see anything that looked out of place: it just looked like a lot of shit piled together. 

Sans smiled down at Killer, and it was that stupid, shit-eating grin that always made Killer’s fight or flight instincts kick in. Particularly his “fight” instinct. The skeleton was obviously scheming something, and the smaller monster had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with him and Night. “I think I forgot to pack one of the tents… looks like you and Nightmare are going to be stuck sharing one!”

Killer glared up at him. Of course he “forgot” an extra tent. Ever since Nightmare ran off to help comfort Killer a few days ago, Sans had been doing everything he could to get them to hook up, or kiss, or get into some kind of situation with romantic undertones. He’d even tried to get the two younger skeletons to stand under a mistletoe together - it wasn’t even christmas yet, so Killer had no goddamn clue how Sans had come up with that one. Regardless, everytime Sans pulled one of his stupid stunts, both Nightmare and Killer would blush like highschoolers, and Killer’s soul would flutter inside his chest. It didn’t help that the two of them still hadn’t talked about what happened on the roof - Killer could still remember the warmth in his chest as Nightmare willingly cuddled with him that night, the way his body was warm as he laid on Killer’s chest. The way his own soul felt ready to burst. At least Nightmare hadn’t tried to distance himself after Killer told him everything. 

“Oh, well… that’s ok! Killer and I already share a room at the orphanage, so this will be no different!” Night’s cheeks were dusted with that pretty teal, almost green colour again, making Killer’s soul skip a beat. Of course the Prince would be oblivious to Sans’s ploys, he has been this entire time. Or maybe he was playing dumb. In that case, Killer had to admit that he was a damn good actor. “Right, Kills?”

Goddammit- why did he have to be so cute?

“Yeah… it’s fine.” Nightmare smiled brightly - damn that stupid, radiating grin of his - and hummed as he began to help unload the trunk, skipping over to Ink. 

“You’ve got it so bad Killer.” Error said with a snicker, sounding like he just stated the most obvious thing in the world. Killer glared up at him, his cheeks burning with magic.

“Got what?” Wow, great move Killer, playing dumb always works.

Not. Unless you were Nightmare, then it was cute. For Killer, he was sure it just made him look more dumb.

Error just smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Out of everyone here, who do you get along with? Who do you just ‘happen’ to always agree with? Who you’ve never gotten angry with?”

Killer just huffed, grabbing one of the tent bags, ignoring Cross as he snickered. He’d deal with the ex-guard later.

“Just admit it Killer, you’re in love~” Sans hummed, wiggling his eyebrows at the shorter monster.

“I am not!” The others around him laughed, only making him more annoyed and embarrassed. So what if he did lo- like Nightmare?! It was none of their business!

“Aw, you’re embarrassed! How cute, you’ve got a crush on th-” Sans just barely avoided the knife Killer threw at him, his smile unfaltering. He was probably used to having things thrown at him, since he had three younger siblings; Killer held back a laugh at the thought of Sans getting hit in the skull with a sock or slipper.

“Kills!” Nightmare ran back over, grabbing Killer’s free hand - luckily, Error and Sans shut their mouths about the whole ‘crush’ thing the minute the Prince was in ear shot again. “I found the perfect place for our tent! Come on!” He gently pulled on the smaller skeleton’s hand, practically radiating positive energy.

Killer hated that Error and Sans teased him about his very real feelings for the other monster, but what he hated the most? They were right.

He really did have it bad. 

“Yeah, ok… lead the way, Night.” As the excited monster pulled Killer away, he could hear Error and Sans laughing behind them, while his soul pounded in his chest.

*****

Error has never been a big fan of camping.

Sure, he liked the outdoors, and he liked the food, but there was something about it that just rubbed him the wrong way.

Maybe it was because the only time he’d gone camping as a child had been when his father suspected he was gay with how often he hung out with Ink - Error had been 14 at the time of the trip and, at the time, he was still oblivious to his feeling for the boy. Also, he had only started to realize how much of a steamy pile of shit his father was. Cyber had taken him fishing that weekend in hopes of making Error more of a “man”.

To this day, Error had a passionate hate for fishing.

With all that being said, there was still one way Error could be convinced to stay a week in the middle of the woods.

And that reason was Ink.

The small monster always found ways to make things fun, and there was always a warm, happy buzz in Error’s soul when he was with him - the soulbond only made the buzz more noticeable. Plus, seeing Ink get excited over wildlife and trees was always a treat; so when the small skeleton had pulled him aside and asked if he wanted to go on a short hike, Error gladly agreed. 

Though, he hadn’t imagined himself carrying Ink along the trail.

It had started with them just holding hands, walking in comfortable silence through the trees, but eventually the pregnancy caught up to Ink and he started feeling more and more tired, until the point that Error just decided to pick him up. The smaller skeleton had wrapped his arms around Error’s neck, resting his skull on Error’s shoulder with a content sigh. 

The first four months was the most tiring part of a pregnancy since the baby was directly using the mother’s magic to create their soul, and Error could feel the slight drain on Ink’s soul. He made a mental note to ask Sans if that was normal later - he didn’t want to take any risks, not when it came to Ink or their children.

“Hey Erry?” Error hummed in response, feeling the small skeleton yawn. “You know I love you lots, right…?” Ink’s words were a bit slurred from his fatigue, but they caused the ebony monster to smile nonetheless. 

“Of course I do, Inky. Why wouldn’t I?”

“‘Cause I don’t say it enough… and I don’t want you to think I don't appreciate all of this… everything you’ve done for me…”

“You don't have to say it all the time for me to know it hun.” A breeze blew past them, shaking leaves from the tree branches. The whole place was extremely picturesque, and Error wondered how Sans ever found it. “I know how you feel about me, and you know I feel the same way.” Ink pulled his head off of Error’s shoulder, and Error could feel his eyes watching him, and could feel the way Ink’s soul warmed with love and happiness. 

“You're too sweet sometimes, you know that..?” Ink mumbled, smiling as his hand ran over Error’s chest, feeling the strong ribs underneath. 

Error just chuckled. A sound to their left made hun freeze, and the couple turned their heads towards the culprit: two deer, a mother and a fawn, stood a little ways from them, slightly hidden between the trees and bushes. 

Ink's eyelights grew wide as he stared at the two animals, his left eye changing to a bright yellow star, and a small “Woah…” slipped past his lips. Error found himself smiling down at Ink rather than the wide life, finding the small monster much more beautiful than anything they'd find out here.

They deserved this. After so much going wrong, they deserved a week to relax and act like Error hadn’t started a war. They could be happy about their twins and laugh with their new friends without thinking and worrying about what they were going to do next. For one week, they could be normal.

Error pressed a kiss to Ink’s temple, the short monster turning to smile up at him, his worries forgotten. 

Error may not like camping, but he was grateful that Ink had convinced him to come on this trip anyways.

*****

Killer realized he had mixed feelings about fire as he watched the bonfire and it’s flickering flames, reaching up to the dark night sky, the heat making his skull and bones feel warm. On one hand, it was beautiful: the warm orange glow, the way the flames licked at the sky, sparks floating up into the dark. But Killer also knew how dangerous that same fire could be. You get too close and you’ll burn, it could bring down forests, homes, ruin lives with ease. In a way, Killer was drawn to it, more than he probably should be.

He wasn’t one for poetry, he found it dumb at the best of times, but even he could see how that flame could be symbolic for love.

It was evening now, the sky a deep purple above the trees, and shadows seemed to move between the trees and shrubs (Killer was convinced that was just his eyes playing tricks on him), and if it weren’t for the fire Cross and Sans had made, he was sure the six of them would be shivering. The hardest part had been pulling over four logs to sit on - Cross wasn’t even on the one he was next to, the prick - and Killer’s lower back still ached. It didn’t help that Error and Ink had conveniently run off into the woods at that time, returning about an hour later. Killer was convinced they had fucked against a tree (Nightmare had given him a whack to the arm when he mentioned that idea, the Prince’s cheeks bright with that pretty blush that Killer definitely didn’t love).

Now, the monsters were gathered around the flickering fire - Sans on one log, a guitar case on the ground next to him (Which he had refused to explain why he had it, much to Killer’s dismay), Cross on the grass, looking tired, and Error and Ink were cuddled close under a purple, woven blanket. Then there was him and Night. Nightmare was sitting on the right side of the old log, humming to himself as he pulled out the marshmallows, graham crackers and chocolates out of a plastic bag; while Killer leaned comfortably against him. The back of his mind was screaming at him because of the close contact - he knew it made them look like more than friends, he wasn’t a moron - but Nightmare was warm and his presence made Killer’s soul fill with butterflies and bliss. As much as Killer wanted to hate that feeling, he just couldn’t and recently he’d found himself going out of his way to feel it.

“You want a roasting stick for those, buddy?” Sans asked as Nightmare finally managed to open the bag of marshmallows - he’d been struggling for a few minutes by then, and if Killer hadn’t found it so cute he would have offered his help. 

Nightmare nodded, as he handed a marshmallow to Killer, who eyed it with suspicion. “Yes please! T-thank you!” He smiled sheepishly as he was handed the shiny metal rod, sticking two of the white sugary treats on the end. Nightmare then held the end of the stick over the fire.

“What the fuck are you doing…?”

“Roasting them, silly! I told you I’d make you a s’more, didn’t I?” He flashed a smile at the smaller monster, making him flush. “And you should try that marshmallow! They’re yummy!”

Killer looked back down at the squishy cylinder in his hand. With some hesitation, he popped it into his mouth, his eyes widening. It was sweeter than he expected, and he couldn’t decide if he liked the taste or hated it. From the otherside of the fire, Cross laughed. “You’ve never had a marshmallow before?” Glaring at him, Killer yanked the bag away from Night, tossing it as Cross. He caught it, the damn bastard, even after it almost caught on fire. “Seriously? What the hell did you think to accomplish with that?”

“Fuck off.” Killer mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest as he turned his body so that his legs were on the old wood, his back resting against Nightmare’s shoulder. 

“Grow up you two, you’re acting like children again.” Error groaned, Ink giggling. The small monster looked tired - then again, he always looked tired recently. Maybe it had something to do with whatever Gaster had done to the poor skeleton.

Killer just grumbled, glaring at the ground as if it had personally offended him. 

He only looked back up when Nightmare nudged him, holding a small, sandwich like thing in his hand, his smile proud and enthusiastic. “Here, Kills, it’s good!” As much as Killer trusted Nightmare, he was still hesitant when he took the dessert. The marshmallow and chocolate in the center were warm and gooey, and were starting to ooze out of the sides of the two graham crackers. In a panic, not wanting to make a mess and embarrass himself more, he shoved the whole thing into his mouth. 

Nightmare had been right, it was good, but it was way to fucking hot for his mouth. He struggled to chew and swallow the treat, Nightmare’s eyes glued to him. The Prince’s eyes were filled with worry and concern. “Why… did you do that?”

The shorter monster just shrugged, ignoring Cross’s loud laughing. “... It was good.” He muttered, his cheek blooming with colour. God, he must look like an idiot.

The excitement returned to Nightmare’s eyelights, and he poked Killer’s warm cheek with a giggle. The sound made Killer’s soul swell in his chest. “You had me worried for a second there, Silly! I’m glad you liked it!”

Killer just nodded, quickly turning away from the Prince in hope of hiding his blushing skull.

He was so fucking whipped, it wasn’t even funny at this point.

*****

“They’re both so cute, aren’t they?” Sans hummed quietly to Cross, opening up his guitar case. He hadn’t played in a few months, and he knew he was going to be rusty, but he had wanted to bring it anyway. Just recently he had learned a new song and he found it rather fitting for his new friends.

“I guess…” Cross muttered, eyeing Sans. He wasn’t close to the ex-guard, at least not as close as he was to Ink and Error, but he knew his sister liked him, so it felt like his duty to make sure Cross was trustworthy. Not that Sans didn’t trust him already. “We really need to find you a significant other, Sans.” 

The older skeleton’s cheeks involuntarily turned bright blue, and his eyes snapped up to Cross. It wasn’t that Sans was against dating - the whole idea of finding someone that loved him that much was definitely something he could get behind - but he found it pointless for him to actively look for someone anymore.

Sans wasn’t good with relationships of any kind, especially romantic ones. He could never open up fully to anyone right away, keeping personal things close to his chest. Hell, he’d even hide behind a smile if he was feeling shitty, not wanting to bother whoever he was dating. Which, understandably, rubbed people the wrong way. And some monster’s just got sick of his jokes. Sans had never been in a relationship for more than a few months, and he doubted that would ever change. It was clear no one could love him the way Ink and Error loved each other and Sans had accepted that. He was fine with that, too, and was happy to just help take care of his family.

Yup. Totally chill with being alone until he turned to dust.

“Where’d that come from?” He brushed off the comment the best he could, giving Cross his best fake smile he could muster.

“You’re always so focused on all of our love lives… what about yours? You deserve someone who’ll make you happy too, Sans.” Cross’s eyes flickered to the other skeleton, worry reflected in his sockets. 

The comedian tried to laugh, keeping his eyes on the neck of his instrument as he tuned it. The laugh sounded fake, even to himself. “I’m… not good with relationships. And I’m fine being single, it’s not so bad.” And it wasn’t, not really. It gave him a lot of time to get to know himself.

It was a shame he hated himself, even after all that time alone.

“If you say so… but you do deserve to have someone who loves you like that. You’re a good person.” Sans laughed again, shaking his skull.

He knew better than to believe that. A good person didn’t dream about their sibling killing them. A good person didn’t ruin their relationship with their brothers. Good people didn’t look like Sans, and certainly didn’t think like him, either.

Not that it mattered.

Taking a deep breath to calm his now raging anxiety, Sans began singing softly while strumming his guitar. 

_“There will come a soldier_

_Who carries a mighty sword_

_He will tear your city down, oh lei-oh lai-oh Lord_

_Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh Lord_

_He will tear your city down, oh lei-oh lai-oh Lord”_

It didn’t matter that Cross said he should find someone. He didn’t need anyone. They’d just leave. And Sans already had too many deep, unhealed cracks on his soul. 

Nightmare was giving him a surprised look. He seemed to like the music, his grin widening as he turned to Killer. Sans hoped those two would end up together. They had both been through way too much for their age, and it was nice to see the two of them happy, really happy. They were the ones who actually deserved a happily ever after. 

_“There will come a poet_

_Whose weapon is His word_

_He will slay you with His tongue, oh lei-oh lai-oh Lord_

_Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh Lord_

_He will slay you with His tongue, oh lei-oh lai-oh Lord”_

Nightmare was pulling Killer to his feet, pulling him into a dance. The Prince was laughing while the small skeleton looked flustered and unsure of what to do, but Sans didn’t miss the gentle smile on his lips. Ink was now softly singing with him too, snuggled up to Error’s chest.

They were good people too, like storybook lovers. Sans really did wish them the best for the future, the two monsters definitely deserved the love and happiness Cross talked about.

_“There will come a ruler_

_Whose brow is laid in thorn_

_Smeared with oil like David's boy, oh lei-oh lai-oh Lord_

_Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh Lord_

_Smeared with oil like David's boy, oh lei-oh lai-oh Lord_

_Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh Lord_

_He will tear your city down, oh lei-oh lai... oh”_

There was an ache in Sans’s soul, and he told himself it was only there because he was tired. A bullshit lie, and he knew it. He knew what it was, even if he didn’t want to admit it: jealousy.

Sure, maybe he was a bit jealous of the love all his friends had. Maybe, deep down, he wished he had someone who would love him unconditionally. Someone who could look past all his flaws and mistakes and see something beautiful. But he knew he would never find anyone like that.

_“Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lai, oh_

_Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lai, oh_

_Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lai, oh”_

He smiled as Nightmare and Killer burst out laughing, both monsters blushing as they stayed close, catching their breath after hopping around and dancing.

Sans was happy for them. He really was.

He ignored the pain as he laughed with the others. There was no point in dwelling on things he couldn’t change.

He may not ever find love, but he sure as hell would do his best to help those with a precious person like that in their life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo I know this took a while to finish, and if you follow my Tumblr you know why. Regardless, I'm sorry for the delay, and know that the update schedule has changed from every other week to every three weeks (hopefully I'll be able to keep that up, please be patient if I can't though)
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, even if it's a bit short :)


	14. ~Chapter 14~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/B5l28mWAbPj/?igshid=8pwo38p4b4fh) or [Tumblr](https://fandomartist1273.tumblr.com/post/189150992336/nisha-i-really-wanted-to-make-a-fanchild-soooo)

“Are you bringing us out here to murder us? Because that’s really fucking cliche.” Sans glanced back at the short skeleton who had spoken: Killer. The small guy looked kind of intimidating in the pale moonlight, but Sans brushed the feeling away, his eyes flickering to the other monster he had pulled away from their little campsite at two in the morning. Cross was silent, and the comedian wondered if the guy was still half asleep.

“I’m not going to kill you, no.” Sans said with a hum, pushing past low hanging tree branches. Knowing Killer, it was Sans who should be worried about being dusted - the short skeleton was definitely not going to like his plan. 

“How gracious of you.” Cross muttered, his frown deepening when the three monsters left the shelter of the underbrush and stepped out onto the shore of the large, round lake. “What exactly are you planning, Sans?” 

The lake, which Sans had affectionately named the “ Blow off steam” Stream - it wasn’t too large, and the dark water sparkled with moonlight. The circular lake was surrounded by trees and shrubbery - both of which looked too dark under the moonlight, like there were shadows and creatures moving through them, unbeknownst to the three skeletons, and far in the distance was the great MT. Ebott. Sans and Chara used to fight pretty regularly, especially after Chara turned 13. During those times, their father would take the two of them, put them in a boat and row them out to the middle of the lake; where they would stay until their most recent argument was settled or the two of them apologized for being at the other’s throat. In all honesty, Sans was surprised neither of them ended up overboard, but Asgore’s idea had worked. For the most part, Chara and Sans were close now, besides the standard sibling bickering. 

Hence why Sans was about to use the same technique with Killer and Cross.

“I can a-shore you that it’s nothing bad.” He snickered, hearing two groans from behind him.

“It’s too late for this dumb shit. Can we go back to bed?”

“For once, I agree with Killer.” Cross said with some level of reluctance. Oh good, it was already working - they were starting to agree with each other! “Seriously, what’s the point of this?”

“It would ruin the surprise if I just told you!” Sans smiled his best shit-eating grin, gesturing to a small, wooden boat tied to the dock. “Now, all aboard!” The other two skeletons stared at him with disbelief, neither of them stepping towards the - admittedly rickety - boat.

“What the fuck has gotten into you? Did you eat some mushrooms or something?” Killer asked with a cocked eyebrow. Which, no, Sans hadn’t, and he hadn’t even seen any mushrooms all weekend so Sans wondered how Killer even came to that conclusion. 

“Nope, I’m as sober as can be. Now, boat.” The comedian grabbed their arms and gave them a pull towards the dock. The two monster’s went with little resistance - Killer voiced his complaints rather loudly but stepped into the boat with Cross nonetheless. 

Satisfied, Sans stepped in between the two grumpy skeletons, sitting down with a sigh. The air between them was thick with tension as Sans began rowing away from the dock, not to mention it was deadly silent besides the sounds of the water moving around the boat, and the sounds of birds and other animals hidden in the thick of the forest. If it weren’t for the awkward silence, Sans would even describe this little boat ride as pleasant.

But alas, he wasn’t here to marvel at the view. Exhaling a slow breath, letting the boat drift lazily in the center of the lake, Sans turned his attention back to his friends: they both looked absolutely miserable, glaring daggers at each other. “ _ Elm _ going to be honest here, you guys always bickering is starting to get tiring. So you two are going to work out  _ water _ ever is going on between you,  _ oar  _ we’re going to be stuck out here on this lake till morning.” Sans pushed down a snort, proud of himself for managing to cram so many shitty puns into one sentence. Going by the looks he was getting, the two men were not as pleased.

“I swear to god, Sans, if you make one more of those fucking jokes I’m going to push you off this boat.” Oh goodie, maybe a midnight swim would knock Sans out of the emotional funk he’d been in recently.

The older skeleton immediately pushed that thought deep into his mind, locking it tightly in his “Think of later” box. This was about helping Killer and Cross put their differences aside, not Sans’s out-of-whack feelings.

Instead, he just shrugged the comment off. “I’m serious though. I want you two to work this out.”   
  
“There’s nothing to work out.” Cross snapped, crossing his arms. “We don’t get along, so what?”

One of Sans’s eye sockets twitched and he let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his “nose”. “We’re supposed to be a  _ team _ , and we’re going to have a hell of a time working together if you two can’t put your differences aside for five minutes!” 

For once, neither Cross nor Killer had a snarky remark.

“Look, it's fine if sometimes you two butt heads, but you need to be able to actually work together instead of just yelling and snapping at the other.” A chill breeze passed by the boat, and Sans repressed a shiver. His eyelights were pinpricks as he looked between the two skeletons, a dull ache forming in his skull whenever they flickered out: it was something that always happened when he was upset, his eye lights disappearing, and it was clearly something that made some people uncomfortable. Sans was good at reading faces, and it was those looks of discomfort and fear that made him try his best  _ not  _ to get this upset. Plus, it usually gave him a headache.

“He's right, Killer. We need to work this out.” Cross grumbled, Sans noted the ex-guard seemed unhappy with the idea.

Killer, on the other hand, was still glaring at Cross. “Why? We can easily just ignore it if we have to fight together.”

“That won't get us anywhere!” The taller skeleton hissed back, his somewhat calm attitude thrown out the window. “Then we're just bottling up our grievances and one of us will snap and dust the other!”

“That's a bit extreme, don’t you think? Unlike you, I have this wonderful thing called ‘self-control’.”

Cross barked out a laugh. “You are the least self-controlled person in this group!”

“Says the one who’s always talking about Dream, always talking about how we need to go get him right now.”

“That's different! He's in legitimate danger! Stop acting like you wouldn't do the same if Nightmare was in his place!”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“ENOUGH!” Sans magic flared up at his outburst, his eye lights blinking out completely as his hands flew up. Coils of blue magic wrapped around the two skeletons, making their very souls feel heavy. “This is exactly why I brought you two out here, this can't keep happening!”

Killer and Cross stared at him with wide eye sockets, and Sans immediately dropped his hands, his magic fizzling out. Going off the pain ricocheting behind his sockets, his eye lights were still out. Keeping his head down, he clasped his hands in his lap, cursing himself. He was usually so good at keeping both his emotions and magic in check. Maybe the lack of sleep was starting to get to him.

“You can use gravity magic?” Cross asked after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, crossing his arms over his chest. His tone was slightly suspicious, making Sans feel on edge -soul magic, magic that can affect the soul (like gravity magic) was uncommon nowadays and most monsters had lost the ability to learn it. It wasn't like he was trying to hide the ability, but he certainly felt like a child who'd been caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

“Yeah, I can. Sorry. I didn't mean to.” The pain in his skull dulled slightly now that his eye lights flickered back. 

“Can we go back now?” Killer was sitting on the edge of the boat, his leg bouncing. He looked way too close to falling out of the boat for Sans to be comfortable.

The ex-guard rolled his eyes. “You haven't even tried to fix this. You really don't care, do you?”

“I care about getting some sleep.” The small skeleton shot back.

Sans sighed, his body deflating. If he'd been honest, he was excited to bring these two out, he'd been determined to fix whatever was going on between them - hell, he even asked Nightmare for some pointers on how to help keep Killer relatively calm (not that it helped much, considering how this went). And yet, one small misstep was enough to bring his mood and energy down completely, so much so that he wanted nothing more than to lay down and never get up.

His mood swings definitely had to be because he was sleep deprived; at least, that was what he was trying to tell himself. Truth was, this sort of thing had been happening all week. He'd been able to hide it from the others, thankfully, but he could feel himself slipping. Slipping into that dark pit of nothing. Of numbness. 

Like always, he ignored that void. He didn't want to deal with it, didn’t want to deal with being a drag to other people. 

Sans snapped out of his thought just in time to see Cross push Killer overboard, the small skeleton yelping and flailing in the water. The next few moments were a blur: pulling Killer out of the freezing water, stopping him from attacking Cross (who was laughing his ass off), rowing back to the shore, then the three of them disappearing into their own tents.

Sinking into his sleeping bag, exhaustion took over Sans. He was so tired: physically, and emotionally. In retrospect, staying up so late probably wasn't necessary.

His soul was aching in his chest, an ache he hadn't felt in a while: loneliness. It didn't make sense, after years of being able to ignore it, why was it being such an issue now? The exhaustion - the depression - Sans could deal with, he has been since he was a teenager, but the loneliness?

That he couldn’t handle so well.

The sun was already peeking up over the horizon as Sans finally passed out, his cheeks damp from heavy tears that made his soul feel hollow. 

*****

Sans’s plan may not have gone the way he had planned, but it did seem like Killer and Cross were at least trying not to argue on the drive back. There was a consistent, dull pain in the back of Sans’s skull, his guess was it was a side effect of getting so little sleep, or maybe it was just a physical manifestation of his shitty mood. Hell if Sans knew.

He was just so tired. 

Sure, the week had been fun, and Sans had enjoyed being surrounded by his friends, but it reminded him exactly why he  _ didn't  _ have friends before this. He loved making people laugh, seeing their smiles, helping them, but god was it draining; it sometimes made Sans feel like a bowl of chocolates, and everytime he talked to people, or told them a joke or did anything like that, he lost one of those chocolates. So, when he was empty, or almost empty, of those sweet candies, he just needed to be left alone for a few hours. He just needed to burrow under his blankets and sleep for a day. Or maybe two.

Regardless, the whole thing made him feel even worse. It wasn't that he didn't like hanging out with people, if anything he greatly enjoyed it, so why did it always leave him so exhausted?

He sighed, pressing his skull to the steering wheel and pushing those thoughts away. His friends were already out and back at the orphanage, Sans had used the excuse of needing to make a call so they wouldn't wait up for him. 

He lugged himself out of the car, turning on his heel to face the gates, only to run face first into the, rather firm, chest of some stranger. It was a gut reaction: pulling away like he had been burnt, his magic flaring around himself protectively while looking up to meet the eyes of whoever he'd run into-

Only to freeze.

Red. 

A deep, warm red eyelight looked back down at Sans, filled with worry. 

Sans’s nonexistent stomach did a flip.

A skeleton, about a head taller than Sans, stood before him, a crack reaching up to the top of his skull from his right eye socket, along with a few on his humerus, ulna and radius. He was wearing a red shirt and a short, dark red jacket over top, the collar of which was fluffy and framed his skull. Sans also couldn't help but notice a rainbow pin pinned to that jacket as well.

Sans could feel his cheeks warming, dusting with the light blue of his magic: whoever this was, was really attractive. 

“I-I…” Oh god, what was Sans supposed to say?! His tongue felt too heavy to move, and his skull too full of cotton to even attempt to form a sentence. Plus it didn't help that Mr. Hottie was giving Sans this cute, amused look.

“Sorry ‘bout that, didn't notice ya at first.” He had a deep, gruff voice and a thick Boston accent that sent a shiver down Sans’s spine. “Name’s Red.” How fitting.

“Sans. Sans the skeleton.” Oh great, like that isn't obvious from looking at him. Sans blushed more, his stomach cartwheeling as Red let out a low chuckle, the sound of it deep and rich. 

The shorter skeleton’s soul was beating like a sledgehammer against his ribs. 

“So, what's a cute skeleton like ya doin’ here?” What?! What does  _ that  _ mean?! How is Sans supposed to react to Red: a tall, deep voiced, extremely good looking man, flirting with him?

Apparently he reacts by blushing like a schoolgirl.

“I, uh, I'm dropping off some friends…” He cleared his throat; god this has to be the worst first impression Sans had ever made. And Red was still looking at him with that same cute expression! 

“Ahh, so yer the friend Error ‘n his fiancé were with for the week? I just talked to ‘em in there when I joined jus’ now.” He gave Sans a grin - his teeth were pointed and one of them plated gold, reflecting the setting sunlight - pushing his hands into his back pants pockets. Red looked so relaxed, such a stark contrast to Sans’s flustered state: the poor guy must think he's such a freak. A weirdo. Is Sans sweating? Oh no, that must look so gross. “‘m guessin’ yer part of this too, yeah?”

“Y-yeah, yeah I am.” The smaller skeleton rocked back on his heels, glancing around. The sun was starting to set, painting the sky in pinks, oranges and yellows while making the crooks and crannies of the streets inky and dark. It was a strange mix of uncomfortable voids of nothing and bright light reflecting off window glass. “Hey, did you hear about the two antennas that got married?” 

Red cocked an eyebrow, his easy smile going into a lopsided smirk. 

“The wedding itself was mediocre, but the reception was Sans-sational.” A laugh was ripped out of the taller skeleton which, unlike his voice, was slightly high pitched. The sound made Sans’s soul warm and flutter in his chest, his smile widening.

“Was that two puns in one?”

“Yeah, just trying to make this a bit more  _ humerus _ .”

Red laughed again, his cheekbones dusting with red magic. Sans’s eyelights dilated at the sight, and he couldn't tell if he wanted to scream or cry over the fuzzy feeling in his chest. This was not happening, was it?

No, of course not. He just found the guy nice to look at, that didn’t mean he was or would develop feelings. Sans didn’t do relationships. And yet…

Nope, he was not having that thought right now. 

“Hey, can I have yer number?” 

More heat rushed to Sans’s skull. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if he looked into a mirror and saw that his whole face was bright blue.

“Ya know, ta keep in touch; if we’re gonna be a team I think it would be good ta get ta know each other bettah.” Yup. That totally made sense, and Sans had already given Error his number, so how was this different? Maybe it was the fact that seeing Red made Sans’s knees weak. 

“Y-yeah, that’s a good idea. Makes sense. We should totally hang out sometime.” He snapped his mouth shut so he wouldn’t keep rambling. What was going on with him?!

Red chuckled again. It was such a nice sound, Sans decided. It was just so deep compared to his actual laugh, so smooth and rich. “I like that idea.” 

Once the two had exchanged numbers - which involved a lot of awkward stumbling on Sans’s behalf - the two parted ways. 

Later, as Sans was getting ready for bed and listening to his sister complain about having to go to bed - it was a school night, so Asgore insisted that Frisk was in bed by 9:30 and Chara by 11:00 - all he could think about was that red eye light and warm expression.

*****

Insomnia was a bitch.

Red had figured that out years ago, when him and his brother had hopped to a different foster home every other month, and the young skeleton would find himself staring up at the ceiling in the middle of the night. It always felt like sleep was right in front of him, close enough to reach out and grab it with ease, but his hands were tied behind him, preventing him from grasping the one thing his heavy eye sockets craved. 

He hadn’t grown up in BlightView - he’d only moved there after being offered a teaching job a few years ago - and had lived in a city far west on the cost, named  Gawlyn. It was small and rather insignificant compared to BlightView, so the move had been a big change for Red, not to mention how cold the winters were. The mountains were cool though.

As a kid, Red had moved between different foster families with another kid named Edge, who was 3 years younger than him, and the two grew relatively close, despite their frequent bickering, and came to the point of just calling themselves brothers. 

He liked to blame it on the system he grew up with, but when he was younger the skeleton had been violent and quick to anger, always finding himself in fights with the other kids like himself: the outcasts, the loners, the “losers”. One of said fights was how he lost his sight in his right eye socket.

Maybe that was why he wanted to be a teacher so bad - that, and he was a huge history nerd. He liked learning about the mistakes of the past, and he got to help kids like himself grow up with at least one supportive adult. It wasn’t much, but it helped him feel like he had a purpose. A cause.

His therapist had suggested having one of those: a cause, a reason to push forward. That advice honestly helped him through most of his teenage years. It led him to joining an LGBTQ+ support group, to volunteering at a daycare, and even leading him to college. 

At least now he could say he was somewhat of a better person, or at least he liked to think so. 

He let out a puff of air, rolling onto his side and kicking off his sheets. He had to work tomorrow - or today, since it was technically two in the morning now. His eye light flickered to his phone on his nightstand, hearing it buzz with a notification. Usually he tried to avoid his phone when he was trying to go to bed, but…

Fuck it, he was already up.

He scooted over and plucked his phone off the wooden nightstand, blinking against the brightness that suddenly assaulted his eye sockets.

He felt his soul flutter when he could finally see who the message was from: that cute skeleton from before, Sans. 

Red typically wasn’t one to feel so attracted to people - he had a past of casual sex that had made him feel numb, and he really wanted to avoid the pit again; so he chose to avoid relationships, unless he was sure it would be something of substance. Not a quick fuck and go. Regardless, the small skeleton had pulled something out in him, going off by the way his soul had reacted to seeing Sans.

Plus, the guy seemed funny, and that was always a good quality in a partner.

Smiling to himself, he clicked the message to open it; he was surprised the shorter skeleton would text him this late, but he was deciding to be optimistic about it.

**Sans (2:08 AM): hey, you awake?**

**Sans (2:10 AM): Sorry, i have troubles sleeping lol didnt know who else to message**

**Sans (2:16 AM): this is prolly really weird for you**

Red snorted, his grin only growing as he read the messages. God, even through texts Sans was adorable.

**You (2:20 AM): Lmao no, its fine**

**You (2:21 AM): I couldn’t sleep either**

**Sans (2:21 AM): oh good**

**Sans (2:22 AM): i mean, not good that you couldnt sleep**

**Sans (2:22 AM): but like, good that we can talk**

**Sans (2:23 AM): unless you want me to leave you alone? im guessing you have work in the morning**

**You (2:24 AM): Yeah, but insomnia is kicking my ass**

**You (2:24 AM): and talking to you is much better than staring at the ceiling ;)**

Was that too much? Sure, he wanted to let the other man know he was interested in maybe starting a relationship, or at least seeing if that would work, but was he laying it on too thick, too soon? He didn’t want to scare Sans off. He stared at the screen, dread building in the pit of his stomach as he watched those three dots for what seemed like hours.

**Sans (2:27 AM): ok i need to know: are you actually flirting with me or are you just super friendly? cuz i dont want to fuck this up if you arent actaully making a move. also im a bonehead when it comes to relationships and flirting and like, all of this**

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Red stared at the screen. Was this too fast? It wasn’t like they would immediately jump to being boyfriends, and sometimes people go on dates right after meeting, right? That also must mean Sans wants to try too, right?

Red was probably reading way too much into this.

**You (2:30 AM): Oh I’m definitely flirting. And I’m not really good at this stuff either, so don’t worry about that. I just think you’re cute and funny and I feel like we should grab dinner sometime**

Again, those three dots appeared, disappeared, and reappeared as Sans wrote and rewrote his message.

**Sans (2:36 AM): for someone whos “not good at this” youre killing it at the flirting thing. On a serious note tho, id really like that :) Just one thing: can we take this slow? I mean, i like you too, but this stuff is kinda hard for me, and i feel rushing into it would be really bad**

**You (2:41 AM): No no, that makes sense. And of course I’m ok with it, I want you to feel comfortable <3 And I know the perfect place**

Red flushed, rereading his text. The heart was definitely too much, wasn’t it?

**Sans (2:43 AM): lol are you red velvet cake?**

**Sans (2:43 AM): cuz youre super sweet**

**You (2:44 AM): lmao you’re just full of those, aren’t you?**

**Sans (2:44 AM): perhaps ;)**

**You (2:45 AM): Well ok then mister vague lol I think we should try to get some sleep**

**You (2:45 AM): We can talk more about a date in the morning?**

**Sans (2:46 AM): yeah thats a good idea, its almost 3 lol**

**Sans (2:46 AM): night red**

**You (2:47 AM): Night sans, sleep well**

Glancing over the messages once again, a blanket of contentment settled over Red’s soul; at the very least, Sans was interested in him too, and they had a date plan in the works.

He really hoped he wasn’t rushing things too much. The last thing he wanted was to make Sans uncomfortable with their pace, especially now that he asked for them to go slow. Then again, that made it clear, in Red’s opinion, that Sans will speak up if he’s uncomfortable. Communication is key, after all.

The skeleton set his phone back down, yawning as he plugged in the charger port.

Funnily enough, he had very little trouble falling asleep after that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha nothing to see here, just two men being cute babies together


	15. ~Chapter 15~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/B5l28mWAbPj/?igshid=8pwo38p4b4fh) or [Tumblr](https://offical-dystopiantale.tumblr.com/post/186610765986/hello-welcome-to-the-official-blog-for-my-au)

One month.

It had been one month since Sans and Red had made plans for their date - was that what Sans was supposed to call it? They both decided it was too early to straight up say they were dating and boyfriends and all that, but this would still technically be a date, right? Either way, due to Red’s kind of hectic schedule - who knew being a teacher was so much work - the only time that worked was Sunday, a month later. Which was fine, Sans said he had wanted to go slow, and the two of them still texted and saw each other almost daily at the camp. But all the waiting had given Sans a lot of time to overthink  _ everything _ that could go wrong on this little date. Meet up. Whatever he was supposed to call it.

Let’s just say, there was a  _ lot _ that could go wrong. 

What if Sans spilled something on himself? What if he annoyed Red? What if he ordered the wrong meal and Red thought he was gross? Those were just the tip of the iceberg. 

What if Red asked Sans to spend the night? What if he wanted more? In a sexual sense. Yes, Sans said he wanted to take things slow, but one night stands were technically a thing and he didn’t know what Red was comfortable with or wanted.

Not that Sans was against having sex with Red, but he just wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t sure he would be anytime soon.

But what if Red did ask and Sans said no, would the other skeleton get mad? Sure, that would be a shitty thing to get mad about and wouldn’t be fair to Sans, and the comedian doubted Red would ever do that,  _ but what if? _

He always went back to those “what ifs”.

Sans looked at his phone for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. Maybe agreeing to Red’s offer to pick him up was a bad idea. He was a 28-year-old still living with his father, which wasn’t a great look- even if Sans was doing it to help out his dad. Plus, he was leaving Chara alone with Frisk (Asgore had a late shift that night since the  botanical Gardens, where he worked, was getting set up for Christmas, which was just around the corner now, evident by the snow already falling outdoors.) and that was nerve wracking enough on its own. What if one of them got hurt? What if there was a fire? 

Sans’s phone buzzed.

Red was waiting outside. 

It was like time stopped. The clock had stuck zero. No more waiting. No more dreading.

Sans pushed off his bed, quickly checking himself over in the mirror: a simple gray turtle neck that was bigger and warmer than what he usually wore, light blue jeans and a dark blue winter jacket. He looked good.

That was a lie. He looked the same as always - plain, ordinary. Good at blending in with the crowd.

Oh well, it wasn’t like he had time to change, again. 

Already feeling the buzz of anxiety in the back of his skull growing, he slipped into one of his shortcuts, appearing at the front door with a soft, almost inaudible puff of displaced air. He could hear the TV in the living room, some kids movie playing with closed captioning on for Frisk. Chara stood in the kitchen with her phone in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. She peered over at her brother as he hurried to tie up his shoes, taking in his shaking phalanges.

“Have fun on your date, you nerd.” She paused, Sans flashing her a somewhat nervous smile. “It’ll go fine. Stop worrying so much.”

He was trying, he wanted to say, but just managed an awkward laugh and a goodbye, making sure to remind his sister not to let Frisk stay up too late and not to let them eat sugar this late. The 10-year-old may be blind, but boy can they run when they had sweets in their system.

The air was cold outside, a clear sign of the changing seasons - as if the large, puffy snowflakes falling from the sky wasn’t enough. Red had parked just behind Sans’s car, and the skeleton smiled when he saw Sans - the action alone made Sans’s soul flutter in his chest. 

He was practically trembling as he sat down in the passenger seat - the inside of the car was, thankfully, warm, which helped his nerves ever so slightly. He forced a smile to his lips - he  _ was  _ excited for this date, he really did like Red. The problem was that that excitement was greatly overshadowed by anxiety and fear.

“Heya.” 

“Hey.” Red was still grinning. If he was even slightly as worried as Sans was, he was hiding it much better. “Ya ready ta go?”

_ Was _ Sans ready? 

Oh god, why had he agreed to this? Sans hadn’t dated anyone in years, not to mention Red was way out of his league. He was going to mess this up, make a fool out himself, embarrass Red, he…

He was hyperventilating.

_ Fuck _ .

“Woah, hey…” A warm, steady hand was placed on Sans’s ulna and radius. The comedian had never noticed that the other’s phalanges came to sharp points, like claws. “Sans, if ya don’t want ta do this that’s ok… ‘m not gonna be mad…” 

His voice was so soothing - deep and rough, like a rumble in the earth, calming Sans down to his core; to his soul. Dragging his eyelights from his shoes, he met that bright red light in Red’s socket; it looked back at him with worry. It seemed to be sucking up Sans’s own fears, like a deep red sponge. Sans could do this. He wanted to do this - the beating and fluttering of his soul was enough to tell him that.

He’d already told Red he wanted to take things slow, and Red had agreed. Red wanted this too - Sans didn’t know why he would, it honestly boggled his mind, but regardless, the taller monster did want to go on a date with Sans. Hell, this very thing had been _ his  _ idea.

“No, no… I… um, I want to do this.” Red didn’t look convinced, his attentive red eyelight only leaving his face when the shorter of the two placed his hand over top of Red’s. Snow was falling outside of the car, the wind blowing a cold breeze and picking up drifts of frost. The sun was setting in the west among a spattering of clouds, bathing the blanket of white in golds and oranges, like melted gold covering the earth. Inside of the car, it was warm and it was just the two of them - Sans and Red; so warm Sans felt himself melting, wanting to fall into the other’s arms, hear his soul, feel his bones against his. But for now, Sans was happy to settle with hand holding. “Really, I do. I’m just… a bit nervous, heh. But I’m ok now.”

The taller skeleton hesitated, scanning Sans’s face for any signs of a lie: all he found was sincerity and a pretty blue blush. Sans was flattered Red cared so much about making sure he was comfortable with all this, even if he couldn’t understand why. That’s something Sans should thank him for, right? Red intertwined their phalanges together, pulling Sans’s gaze back to his skull. “Ya sure? ‘Cause I really don’t wanna pressure ya ‘ere… if this is too fast-”

Sans squeezed the others' larger hand, cutting him off. “It’s not. I, uh, I do really like you Red. And right now, this?” Another squeeze. “This is good. I like this.”

There was another moment of silence, before a small grin formed on Red’s skull, reaching his eye sockets and making his red eye light glow slightly brighter. It was a look Sans wanted to take a picture of and hang in the walls of his mind. Safe and tucked away where he can pull it out whenever he needs it. “I like it too.”

Red squeezed Sans’s smaller hand one last time before shifting in his seat, bringing his hands to the steering wheel and getting ready to drive. As they drove out of the driveway in front of the house, they were unaware of two red eyes watching them from the kitchen window.

*****

“Hey wait a minute - you didn't tell me we were going to Grillby’s!”

Red laughed, shifting the car into park and turning off the engine. The drive had turned out to be rather pleasant, the two skeletons easily bouncing puns off one another, and so far Sans was feeling pretty good about this. It was going well, and the reassurance that Sans had just been overthinking things was doing wonders to his mood - though there was still a persistent buzz of anxiety at the back of his skull.

“Didn't know ya knew the place?” The sun was almost completely hidden under the horizon now, though that was hard to see thanks to the tall buildings surrounding the car - Grillby’s Bar was located close to the heart of the city, meaning there were towers of steel and cement reaching far into the sky no matter where you looked - but warm, gold light shone out through the windows of the restaurant. 

“Know it? It's my favourite place, I'm actually friends with the owner.” Sans grinned, his worry melting even further. Red smiled back at him, and there was a look in his eye that Sans couldn't place, but it was warm and soft.

“I'll definitely keep that in mind fer the future then.” A deep chuckle resonated from Red’s chest and he unbuckled his seat belt. A chill brushed past the two monsters as they stepped out of the car, though it had finally stopped snowing it was still pretty cold. 

Warmth washed over Sans as they entered the restaurant, the smell of greasy food and fire wood thick in the air and easing the tension in Sans’s shoulders.

The floors of Grillby’s Bar were wooden, the walls a deep maroon, and the whole room was bathed in golden light. There were booths to the right of the door, lining the wall, and in front of the frosted window at the front of the bar. The leather booth seats were well worn and cracked in come places, but Sans had been there enough times to know that they were still some of the most comfortable seats in the city. The tables and bar were made from a type of red oak, and the bar stools were topped with cushions that were surprisingly comfortable - Sans had spent many evenings sitting on one of those stools, drinking and joking with the owner, Grillby. He was a fire elemental - a rare species, nowadays, and the only indication of his face was the small, round glasses he always wore. Sans had no idea if Grillby actually needed those glasses to see, or if he only wore them to comfort others. Even without facial features, however, Sans found a way to read the soft spoken monster’s mood from the subtle shift in his flames: from the way it crackled louder when he was mad, to the way it lost some of his glow and grew small when he thought of something that troubled or saddened him, and even to the way it swirled and grew when he was pleased by something. Most of the light in the establishment came from Grillby himself and the lit candles on each of the tables, but there were still fairy lights strung along the ceiling - Sans guessed they were just there for aesthetic reasons, since they didn't give much light.

The before mentioned elemental was behind the bar now, like he usually was, cleaning a glass and nodding as he listened to a fish monster and their friend. The place wasn't too packed, a rarity on weekends, or on weekdays in general. Red called out a greeting to Grillbz, gently holding the smaller skeleton’s elbow as he led them to one of the booths in front of the window. 

The first time Sans had been here was on his first birthday with Toriel and Asgore - the first time he'd ever  _ had  _ a birthday party, or at least the first he could remember. Now that he thought about it, it was on a day similar to this one, only earlier in the day: kids were allowed into Grillby's until 6pm, after that it was adults only.

_ Sans rested his skull against the window, watching the city pass as his adoptive father pulled into a parking lot. The small skeleton eyed the place with suspicion:  _ Grillby's Bar _. He didn't know what to think of this whole situation, it made him feel antsy. His mom and dad - he’d just recently gotten used to calling the two goat monsters that, and it still felt a bit awkward on his tongue - had explained what a birthday party was, and in theory Sans supposed it made sense. Though in his opinion it was more than a small bit morbid, like “Yay, good for you, you're one year closer to being dust!”, but Papyrus had gotten very excited when they threw a party for him back in April, and seeing the skeleton happy made Sans happy so he kept that little thought about birthdays to himself.  _

_ That all being said, he didn't get why  _ he _ had to have one. Getting the multitude of gifts made him a bit uncomfortable, like he should give something back, something more than a “Thank you” and a hug (Though he did absolutely love the telescope they had gotten him). Even Papyrus had gotten him something - it was a hand drawn card with messy sketches of both skeletons with the words “Best big Brother” spelt in all capitals at the top - the “e” and “r” were backwards, and Sans was sure Papyrus had gotten Toriel or Asgore to help him with the spelling, but it was still his favourite gift thus far.  _

_ Sans glanced at the younger skeleton, who was practically bouncing in his booster seat, skull pressed to the window as he looked with starry eye sockets at the restaurant. Papyrus was always so easily excited, always curious to learn more. The latter was one of the few things the two brother's had in common. Deep down Sans knew he'd do anything he had to to make sure his brother kept that hope and joy - he could already feel his own light draining, some strange unseeable source must be sucking it up, so the least Sans could do was make sure that never happened to his baby brother. _

_ “Is this the place mommy? Is it? Is it?” Their mother, Toriel, chuckled softly from the front seat, her voice soft and welcoming. Sans had found it easier to connect with her at first, finding bouncing puns off of one another more entertaining than most of the children's movies Paps liked to watch. Also, Sans liked her pie. _

_ “Yes, my child, it is.” She and Asgore left the car first, Toriel opening the door for Sans - he could have done it himself, but he didn't have the heart to complain as she rubbed his skull with her large, soft paw - and Asgore unbuckled Papyrus and lifted him from the booster seat, carrying him. The 6-year-old looked so small compared to him, and if it wasn't for Papyrus’s constant fidgeting he’d look like a fragile doll.  _

_ Sans’s small metacarpals and phalanges were engulfed in Toriel's paw as she held his hand, the four of them walking towards the door. For as small as he saw Papyrus, Sans knew he wasn't much bigger - he had a feeling it had to do with wherever they had been before meeting the Dreemurr’s, but he couldn't remember that time so he really couldn't be sure.  _

_ The inside of the restaurant was warm, like being wrapped in a large, heated blanket, and tucked to bed. Sans’s eyes roamed the table as his family sat at a booth, his brother still bouncing, and his eyelights caught on the monster behind the bar. “That's Grillby.” Asgore supplied when he followed his son’s line of sight. “He's a fire monster. They can live for a very very long time, even longer than most monsters.” To say Sans was intrigued was an understatement; from what he knew, most monsters could live up till a thousand years at most. Was Grillby older than that?? How much had this monster seen?  _

_ And how come Sans had never seen another monster like him? _

_ Later that evening, when Grillby served the family their meals - Sans had gotten burgers and fries, and he had absolutely loved it, though his brother complained loudly when Sans drenched his food in ketchup - and he could have sworn the elemental smiled at him despite his obvious lack of a mouth... _

Sans was pulled out of his memory by a hand being placed on his, his head whipping away from the window to look at the skeleton across from him. Shit, did he really just zone out like that? On a  _ date? _ How long had he been staring blankly at the frosted window?

“Ya doin’ ok there? Ya kinda blanked out fer a few minutes.” Red’s tone still sounded affectionate, an amused grin playing at his “lips” - well, at least he didn't seem mad.

“Heh, yeah, sorry, didn't mean to give you the cold  _ smoulder _ or anything.” Red snorted, making Sans’s grin widen. 

“Ya really do know a million of those, don'tcha?” 

“Perhaps.” With a snicker, Sans lazily winked. “Seriously though, sorry for uh… zoning out. Just kinda got caught up in a memory, I guess.” 

“Oh? Good or bad?”

Sans thought for a moment: a part of the memory made his soul ache, just from seeing his mother smiling and happy, and the way he used to be so close to his brother (Did he still have that card?), but at the same time it was still nice to remember that there has been good times.

He couldn't bring his mom back, but there has to still be a chance of bringing Paps back, right?

“Good.” He eventually confirmed. “It was a good memory.”

The skeleton across from him opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Grillby walking up to get their drink orders and hand them two menus. Interacting with Grillby almost came naturally at this point: fire pun, a sigh from the elemental, relaxed greeting, and then Sans would order some kind of alcoholic drink - it always depended on his mood.

A lot of the questions Sans had about the fire elemental had actually been answered over the years: either from his own research or from asking the man himself when he was close to being drunk off his ass and lost his filter. He knew elemental monsters were extremely rare after the war, and that Grillby and his family were probably the only three left (In BlightView they were, at the very least). Sans also knew the elemental turned 1752 this year, though he didn’t look a day over 30.

This time around, Sans ordered whiskey and coke, his safe choice when he didn't know what else he wanted, though he regretted that choice when Red only ordered a glass of water - not to mention the conspiratorial look Grillby gave him. Or Sans guessed that's what it was, he'd never actually seen that one on the monster until today.

Should Sans have gotten water too? Sure, Red was the one driving, so it made sense that he wouldn't want booze, but was it rude of Sans not to do the same? Plus, he usually wasn't one to drink often - sure, an odd drink here and there when life felt especially shitty, but Sans already smoked and one bad habit was enough for him, thank you very much. He didn't want Red getting the wrong idea.

“Ya’ve mentioned yer younger siblings before, yer the oldest, right?” Effectively ending Sans’s overthinking, Red rested his elbows on the table, Grillby having set their respective drinks next to them.

“Oh, yeah, I am.” He sipped the alcohol - at least it still tasted good, despite the slight guilt he felt. “There's four of us, actually. Frisk is the youngest, then Chara-”

“Chara? Chara Dreemurr?” Sans’s eyebrow shot up, he couldn't remember telling Red his last name, and he didn't think his younger sister would if she and Red had met at the camp. Regardless, Sans nodded. “Holy shit, what’re the odds… She's in my class.”

Oh, fuck.

“ _ You're  _ the history teacher she's always talking about?” In hindsight, Sans should have connected the dots - he probably would have if he'd asked what school Red worked at. “Oh my god I- I'm so sorry, this is probably so awkward to you…”

“What? Nah, not at all.” Shaking his skull, Red laughed, which only made Sans’s cheeks burn - why is his laugh so cute? “Just ‘cause I teach yer younger sister 'bout the past doesn't change the fact that I like ya.” 

_ How is he so sweet? _

“That's…. uh, good. Cool.” Wow Sans, real smooth.

“Ya said there were four of ya though? So far ya’ve just mentioned three, includin’ yerself.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.. yeah, my.. younger brother, Papyrus.” Red must have seen the slight pain in Sans's face, his hand moving across the wooden table to rest overtop of Sans’s phalanges. His hand was warm.

“Not close ta each other?”

“No. Heh, we were really close growing up, actually.” He didn't want to talk about this. He  _ really _ didn't want anything that would make him think back to his and Papyrus’s most recent fight. “He's in the Royal guard.” 

There was an unsteady moment of silence, Sans’s anxiety buzzing louder and louder with each passing second. He shouldn't have said that. Red would be mad, or annoyed, or  _ something _ . He was going to leave, Sans knew it, so he waited and waited for those dreadful words…

“‘m sorry.”

What?

That wasn't what he was supposed to say. 

Dragging his eyelights from the wood grain, meeting Red’s gaze: it was filled with empathy, worry, sympathy. No pity, Sans noted. “What do you mean?”

“Look ‘m…” He sighed, intertwining their fingers. “I ain't stupid, I can tell yer hurt. ‘n I dunno the details of how ya two used ta be or how ya are now - ya don't have ta tell either - but I do know that yer part of the revolution, ‘n my guess is Papyrus knows. Which… couldn't have led to anythin’ good. So ‘m sorry ya had ta go through that.”

Sans stared at him, stunned. Eyelights flickering over the other's skull, he searched for a hint of something, anything, that gave away that he was joking. No offence to Red in any way, but Sans was having a hard time believing he was  _ this _ good. It wasn't possible, was it?

There was something in the other eyelights, something Sans was having a hard time placing. It was soft. Fuzzy. Warm. Like a fuzzy blanket, or like the feeling of watching the stars with a hot cup of tea. 

Sans pulled his hand away, overwhelmed, just in time for Grillby to arrive again to ask if the two of them knew what they wanted to eat. Sans has a sneaky suspicion the elemental had been waiting for the right time to ask, purposely coming in when Sams showed signs of discomfort. He tried to silently thank Grillby through his eyes.

Sans drank from his glass again, now grateful for the buzz of the alcohol - it wasn't nearly enough to get him drunk, but it did help with the anxiety buzz.

Once they both ordered, Sans rubbed his arm, an uncomfortable silence falling over their table. This was supposed to be  _ fun _ . And of course he had to go and ruin the mood.”

He needed to do something.

“So these two guys walk into a bar.” A raised eyebrow bone, a smile playing at Red’s lips. Sans was starting to recognize that particular grin, the taller skeleton wore it whenever he thought or knew Sans was about to make a shitty joke. Hesitant, yet curious, intrigued. “I mean, you’d think one of them would duck, but who am I to judge.”

Bingo. Red burst out laughing - the one that was a bit high pitched - and shook his head. “Fuckin’...  _ not  _ what I was expectin’ there.”

Sans shrugged, his lazy grin finding its place on his skull again. This was good, they just needed to stay like this and everything will be good. “I'm obviously very mysterious.”

“Clearly” 

“So…” Sans idly tapped his fingers against the wood, Red taking a drink of his water. “Do you have any siblings? I know you mentioned you were from Gawlyn but you never said anything about family?”

Sans noticed the way Red’s smile tightened ever so slightly at the question, his red eyelight leaving Sans in favour of looking out the frosted window. “Eh, I grew up in the system, bouncin’ between homes ‘n homes. Never really got the “mom” ‘n “dad” experience. Me ‘n this other kid always ended up together though, ‘n we just kinda started callin’ each other brothers. He's still in Gawlyn, but we keep in touch.” 

“Oh… I, uh, I'm sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be. Had Edge, so it wasn't that bad.”

At least he had a positive outlook on the whole thing. Sans knew that when he was just looking after him and Paps, before Toriel and Asgore adopted the two of them, he could barely get any sleep, weighed down by stress and worries and the constant need to make sure they were both safe (Papyrus always came first though).

Wait, what? Where did that come from? Sans  _ couldn't  _ remember anything from before Asgore and Toriel, so why in the world could he remember those details?

Why couldn't he remember them being in danger? 

Sans pressed the thought away: he was on a date, he shouldn't be worrying about the past so much.

And yet, that thought really rubbed him the wrong way. He couldn't remember anything before meeting the two goat monsters - literally nothing, no faces, no voices, no places, it was like he and Paps just popped into existence - but he got this intense feeling deep in his soul that it had been bad. Really, really bad.

It was probably just him being overdramatic, he reasoned.

Then again, a soul never forgets.

*****

The rest of the night, thankfully, went by smoothly and without anymore awkward or uncomfortable moments. Plus the food had been delicious, but it was Grillby’s so that one wasn't too surprising.

All in all, Sans would chock it up as a good night. 

The car ride out of the city was quiet, but not in an uncomfortable way - it wasn't heavy or suffocating like some silences were, but instead comforting, like a blanket. Sans watched the buildings change to trees, and the lights disappear behind them. It was dark by now, the sun completely gone, leaving the sky a deep purple and black, specks of stars peeking out behind clouds. The wind blew outside of the car, mixing in the low volume of the music playing on Red’s stereo - some kind of rock band Sans didn't recognize - all in all mixing into something that made Sans’s eyelids want to droop.

“Tonight was really nice.” In the distance, light from the cabin could be seen, steadily approaching. Eyelights flickering away from the window, Sans scanned Red: he was smiling, his whole body seemingly relaxed, red eyelight occasionally moving to Sans.

“Yeah, it was. I had fun.” His happy grin was back in place - it wasn't a lie, he really did enjoy spending time with Red. Sure, there was a moment of two that was a little tense, but that was probably normal. “We, uh, should definitely do it again.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah”

“I'd like that a lot.” Red pulled into the driveway, shifting in his seat so he could actually look at Sans. “Dunno when, but I’d like ta see ya like this again.” Red magic dusted the other skeleton’s cheeks.

“Me too.” Reaching forward, Sans interlaced their fingers. Red’s bones were so warm, it made it hard for him to let go and exit the car. “Have a good night Red.”

“Heh, ya too, Sans.” Shutting the door, Sans waited till Red’s car disappeared over the horizon, shivering from the cold. 

He stepped into the warmth of the house, shaking off the snow stuck to his boots before taking them off. The small  _ pap pap pap  _ of small socked feet caught his attention, and he suddenly had a giggling 10-year-old clinging to his midsection.

“Heya kiddo.”

“Sans! Did you have fun??” They smiled up at him, their cheeks rosy.

Sans chuckled, picking up his sibling just as Chara poked her head out of the living room entrance. Asgore had been busy in decorating the whole place recently, and now everything either had garland or lights strung on it. The house also smelt distinctly like cinnamon, thanks to all the Christmas candles. “Yeah, I did.”

“You're dating my history teacher!” Chara crosses her arms over her chest, glaring at Sans from the living room entrance. The skeleton’s smile tightened: he really really hoped he wouldn't have to have this conversation right now.

“How do you know that? And we're not really dating-”

“You went on a date, that's dating. And I literally saw you sitting with him in the car! What the fuck, Sans?”

“Language-”

“What's going on?” Both siblings whipped their heads to the stairs, where Asgore stood with a frown. 

“Sans is dating my teacher!”

“I didn't even  _ know  _ he worked at your school-”

“Both of you, that's enough.” A deep sigh rumbled from Asgore, and Sans could feel Frisk's small fingers gripping his bones through his sweater - they hated conflict. “Chara, I don't really see the problem with Sans’s relationship… and he is an adult, he can make his own choices. You should be happy for him.”

“I never said I wasn't… it's just weird.” Chara mumbled under her breath, glaring at the wooden floor. “Whatever.” She threw her hands in the air in what appeared to be defeat, turning on her heel.

Asgore gave Sans a look the skeleton knew well: it meant he wanted to talk. Disappearing into the kitchen, Sans set Frisk down, ruffling their hair. “Why don't you go play with Chara for a bit?”

“Will you read to me later” They were pouting at him, and if they could, Sans was sure they'd be using puppy eyes. Over the past week Sans had started reading “Wonder” to Frisk in the evening, and the child had taken an instant liking to the book, usually begging for another chapter before they stopped for the night. More often than not, that one chapter became five.

It was something he used to do for Papyrus when he was younger as well.

“Of course I will.” Clearly pleased, Frisk ran off after their sister.

Sans found Asgore putting away dishes, and it was second nature for him to move next to the goat monster and grab a stack of plates. “We really need to talk, Sans.”

And there it was: those dreaded words all children hated hearing from their parents.

“About?”

“You know what.” Oh, he certainly did. It was the reason Sans had been more or less avoiding his father for the past few months: Papyrus. His chest felt tight whenever he thought about their fight two months ago: his anger was still red hot and searing, but it was mixed with a deep sorrow. He still loved his brother; they'd always be family, no matter what, but he couldn't understand his point of view at all. “Sans, you need to talk to Papyrus sooner or later. This has been going on for years.”

“I… I know, ok? It's just complicated-”

“And I would really appreciate you not keeping secrets.” Asgore turned to meet Sans’s gaze; there were dark circles under his eyes, and his beard was starting to look unmanageable. He looked tired. “I'm happy you've been making friends and are seeing someone, I am, I want you happy Sans. But I can tell you're hiding something.”

“Dad-”

“And I know you're an adult Sans but… you're out until 2 am most nights, you're slaving over papers and notes like you're trying to build something, and more often than not you're smoking outside. I'm  _ worried. _ ”

Shit shit shit shit- 

“Look, I…” Sans dragged his hand over his skull, the sound of bone scraping on bone filling the quiet kitchen. The tap was dripping. Chara and Frisk were watching some kind of cartoon in the living room, the sound muffled. How was Sans supposed to excuse this? “I've just been… busy, with some stuff. And I'm helping some friends with something, remember? And I'm trying to quit smoking, it's just… hard…” He paused, thinking. What else could he say? “I'm not relapsing, if that's what you're worried about. I'm fine.”

The two monsters stared at each other for a solid minute before Asgore sighed and shook his head, turning away from Sans to wipe down the counter. 

“...I'm sorry.”

For lying.

For not acting like a normal son.

For being your son in general.

“Just promise me you'll talk to your brother, alright?”

“Ok.” He didn't want to. God, he'd rather do anything else other than have another argument with Papyrus. But, if it made his father feel better, then sure, Sans could call his brother.

He never said  _ when  _ though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was honestly planning for a lot more to happen in this chapter but instead it just ended up being kustard- though, y'all did get a little sneak peek on Sans and Paps's backstory ;)
> 
> Also thank you all for the kind words and comments, they mean a lot to me <3


	16. ~Chapter 16~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Past abuse mentioned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/B5l28mWAbPj/?igshid=8pwo38p4b4fh) or [Tumblr](https://offical-dystopiantale.tumblr.com/post/186610765986/hello-welcome-to-the-official-blog-for-my-au)

Dream groaned as he turned over to his side, pulling his sheets up to his chin and glaring at the darkness as if it had personally offended him. It was late, too late, and the black of night coated Dream’s bedroom like a weighted blanket, ready to engulf him. Considering how exhausted the Prince was, that should have been a comfort, should have helped lull him into sleep. Sleep where he was safe and wasn’t boggled down by worries and fear and confusion. 

Instead he was stuck tossing and turning in bed, his head too full and his soul aching.

The past three months felt like a blur of pain and turmoil - occasionally his Father would get Dream to come out of his room to meet with the press for interviews, but more often than not Dream was stuck in his room. At least his hand was healed, and besides a few smacks here and there, Gaster hadn’t hurt him again. Though the threat of that always hung over Dream’s head, coiling around his neck and ready to squeeze, to choke out his breath. 

Not only that, but he was getting less and less sleep. Every time he closed his eye sockets, broken images crossed his mind - they were almost memories, almost things Dream could actually recall, but there was always a sentence, or a face, or a scene that alluded him and made the almost memory as a whole drift away, too far to grasp. Sometimes it made him feel so hopeless - he knew those memories had to do with Cross,  _ he knew _ , and he wanted nothing more than to remember them completely, to remember Cross, and yet he couldn’t. 

He hated it. 

Dream let out a deep breath, sitting up in his bed, his sheets pooling at his hips. The room felt cold, and was far more cluttered than Dream would have liked: in his need to remember something he had torn through his poor room for pictures or journals or  _ anything  _ for more information - he  _ had  _ found a whole scrapbook of pictures which… well, honestly didn’t do much, other than frustrate Dream more. The walls of the prince’s room were a soft cream colour, the floor carpeted with an intricate design of gold flowers and old runes that had lost their meanings over the years. The large, overly soft bed was currently a mess of sheets, but stood pressed against the center of the west wall, a wooden night stand on the left side with a lamp and two books placed atop. To the right of the bed, on the same wall as the door, sat a large, old bookshelf - Dream hadn’t even read half of the books, even though he had been meaning to at some point - with two cushioned arm chairs in front and a low table between them. Across from Dream’s bed was his desk - which was cluttered just like the rest of his room - and his wardrobe. He had to make a mental note to clean it before father came in the morning. Or was it morning already? Hell if Dream knew. 

His gold eye lights flickered to the corner of his room, next to the door. The shadows seemed darkest there, like the darkness was actually consuming the room, though Dream had sworn he’d seen a silhouette there a minute ago, out of the corner of his eye. A green silhouette.

It was late, he reasoned with himself, dragging his hand across his skull. It was late and he was tired and, above all, frustrated. His brain was trying to fit in pieces he could recognize in the changing shapes of the darkness, trying to find something familiar, stable.

Which is the only reason he thought he had seen Bethenny in that corner.

He had done everything he could to avoid that subject in recent months. Dream couldn’t wrap his head around her death - god, he still couldn’t admit to himself that she was really gone. Even thinking her name sent a bolt of pain to his soul, a deep, hollow sorrow. He berated himself for not spending more time with her - in recent years he knew they had become distant; Dream having found it unnecessary for him to have a nanny anymore, especially with talk of him being crowned in upcoming years. So he knew Bethenny spent more time with Nightmare. A part of the Prince wondered if his father was the one who made him not want to spend time with the woman - the bitter, angry side of him was more than willing to accept that as a fact.

The other side of him blamed himself for what happened. Maybe if he’d spent more time with her, maybe if he’d known what was happening…

Maybe she’d still be here. 

Maybe  _ Cross _ would still be here too.

A strangled noise left Dream’s throat, his skull falling into his hands. There he went again, thinking about Cross. Was that normal when you loved someone like that? He couldn’t remember if he’d done something similar before. Then again, he couldn’t remember  _ if  _ he loved Cross. What if he didn’t? What if  _ Cross  _ didn’t? 

Dream all but yelled and fell out of bed when he felt a hand on his shoulder, his head snapping up and frantically scanning his room.

No one. It was still just him.

Of course it was. 

Still, if he closed his eye sockets he could still feel the warmth of a hand on his right shoulder, a hand that was connected to a warm, kind presence.

“Bethenny?”

Silence.

With warm cheeks, Dream cursed himself. Bethenny was gone, he knew this. His father had let him see the casket - Dream supposed he could thank Gaster for at least giving the woman a proper burial, but the thought of thanking Gaster for anything about that situation left a sour taste in his mouth. Bethenny was  _ gone _ . 

_ But Cross isn’t. _

Again, Dream looked around his dark room - that didn’t sound like him. It was in his head but it certainly wasn’t him. The voice was soft. He knew it. He  _ knew  _ it.

Was he going crazy?

… no. No, he was tired and confused, and his brain was a mess of thoughts. He just needed to sleep. 

Dream glared at his pillow with distaste - yeah, that wasn’t happening, he was too strung up. He needed to relax. 

His hand slowly, oh so slowly, made its way to his sternum, hidden beneath his pajama shirt. He’d never done it before, but he had been spending more time with Alphys recently and she  _ had  _ said that monsters can take out and hold their souls to clear their heads. After all, a soul is everything a person is, so it just made sense that you could hold it out and watch it to help yourself understand, well, yourself more. 

And from what she said, it should be painless.

Letting out a shaky breath, Dream closed his sockets and concentrated on his chest, easily finding the heated magic swirling in his chest. He greeted it like an old friend as he pulled the inverted heart from his ribcage, his soul floating a few centimeters above his outstretched palm. 

He was so bright, despite his stress, and the  disheveled room was washed in a light blue and yellow, bathing the walls and furniture in the glow. There were hairline cracks covering the surface, some deeper than others, but his soul was still strong. It was still warm. Still… there. 

Ever so carefully, Dream brought his hands up, cupping them around his center, immediately feeling warmth and comfort washing over him. There was so much, so much even he hadn’t even realized. Like most monsters, the first thing he felt was his love, hope and compassion. He remembered something Alphys had said about that, that those three traits were what made up monster’s souls while humans had different traits unique to them, each corresponding to a particular colour. It was hard to focus on that line of thought right now, however, with his entire being right in his palms. How could he think of anything but himself? His love and compassion for all his citizens, filling him to the brim. He wanted nothing more than to do what was right for them, which is why he so easily fell into line with his father. Gaster had known Dream’s parents, who had been good rulers, so the prince had naturally assumed Gaster would know what was right as well. Even without the brainwashing, Dream more likely than not would have listened to W.D just out of pure hope of helping his citizens.

That wasn't the only love he felt, either.

He also loved Cross - oh god, did he  _ love  _ him. He loved the way his lips would twitch into a smile when he noticed Dream watching him, he loved the way his brow bones would furrow when he was focused on something, he loved his laugh, his warmth. His smile. God, his  _ smile _ .

Dream couldn’t remember the moments, the times they were together - he’s trying, but the best he can get is a flicker of a memory or a snidbit of conversation - but his soul remembered  _ Cross _ . Not the moments, the kisses, the compliments, the looks. Those were nice, and Dream was sure they were amazing, but they weren't important right now. Cross was. And Dream’s soul  _ knew _ Cross, it knew him almost as much as it knew Dream.

The Prince’s love, compassion and hope all found their way to tie into Cross’s role in Dream’s love.

Hope for a future where the two of them can be kings and in love unapologetically.

Compassion for what he must be going through, or thinking right now.

Unending love for Cross and everything about him.

He didn’t know when he had started, but he was crying as he pulled his soul back into his chest, where it was safe and part of him again. Relief was practically radiating off of him, and he hadn’t felt so light and calm in so long.

Still sniffling, Dream curled up under his blankets. He still desperately wanted to remember his moments with Cross but now… at least he remembered who the man had actually been.

He knew he had loved - no, he knew he still loved him. His soul had never let go, never given up on Cross, even when Gaster beat him down.

And Dream knew he would do anything to make sure Gaster doesn’t hurt his love too.

He fell asleep, too high on the affirmation that he loved Cross to notice that deep down, his soul still loved his twin brother as well.

But, well, maybe that was a can of worms for another time. 

*****

“Are you sure you’re doing ok Papyrus? You’ve barely talked to me in like, the past two months.” The skeleton in question looked up from his crossword, suddenly feeling very cornered. “It’s not like you to go quiet.”

Both Papyrus and Undyne lived in the guard corridors in the castle, located in the basement, and long ago decided they’d room together with Cross. Papyrus had been more than comfortable with that, considering Unydne usually spent nights with Alphys, and Cross with Dream (before he had suddenly disappeared, which still confused Papyrus. Where had he gone?) so the young skeleton certainly got enough privacy, and he was never truly alone. It was a win-win.

The dorm itself wasn’t all that spectacular: two bedrooms - Cross and Papyrus used to share a room - one bathroom, and one big room with a couch and seldom used TV, plus workout equipment that was used much more often despite there being a proper exercise room down the hall, and a table near the center of the room where it connected to the kitchen. Luckily enough, both Papyrus and Undyne were relatively tidy monsters (though the skeleton found that he had to remind Undyne to clean up her discarded clothing off the floor more than once a week - a habit that made him think of his older brother).

“I… I’ve just been busy. I’m fine Undyne!” He pulled on his biggest - and probably fakest - smile, which only seemed to worry the fish monster more, going off the way her eyes narrowed at him, eyebrows creating a crease between them.

“I’m your  _ boss _ , Papyrus. I know for a fact you haven’t been overloaded this week.” The muscular woman took in a seat in the metal chair next to him - she had changed out of her uniform and into a teal sweater and leggings, her red hair out of it’s usual ponytail and falling around her face and onto her broad shoulders. “Come on, talk to me.” A brief pause. The crossword book in front of Papyrus is starting to look  _ really  _ interesting, it's definitely a good idea to focus all of his energy on staring at that and not at the monster next to him. “Is this about your bro-”

“Undyne, please.” The words were forced out between his teeth, and sat heavy in the air. Contaminating it. Papyrus could practically feel Undyne’s eyes boring into him.

The whole thing with his brother was… complicated, to say the least. Back when the two skeletons had their most recent argument, Papyrus had managed to convince himself that he hated Sans - he was hurt and angry and didn't know what to think. The only logical answer in his skull, at the time, for how he was feeling was hate - which, surprise, surprise, wasn’t true in the slightest. Sans was his older brother, and hell, he’d been a good one while they were growing up. Papyrus wasn’t the smartest kid when it came to academics - he could solve almost any puzzle in 10 minutes or less though, but that was beside the point - and kids like him were always automatic targets for rude comments and bullying. He knew now that none of that was his fault (Though let's be honest, Paps still had moments where he felt he had to blame himself) that other students had acted that way. He knew that it was ok that he had trouble reading, spelling and even speaking at times - thanks for that, dyslexia - or that his brain worked a little differently and made it hard for him to focus or control impulses. And he knew all that  _ because  _ Sans had been there. Because all of their family had been there.

In every one of Papyrus’s memories where he was hurt or sad or scared, his big brother was there. Always. 

So no, he couldn’t confidently say he hated Sans. It would never be true.

That revelation had opened a new can of worms for Papyrus to try and figure out: Was he really willing to fight his only brother? Was Sans? The more and more the younger skeleton thought about it, the more confused he got. He knew Sans - a few years of not talking wasn’t enough to change that - and he knew the older monster would never do anything to purposely hurt his family. Especially one of his younger siblings, Papyrus included. He’d gotten into too many fights to keep Papyrus from being hurt for that not to be true. If that was the case, though, why was Sans doing this? Why did he feel a need to fight against something Papyrus was a part of?  _ Why did he hate the monarch so much? _

Still, there was a part of him that still believed Sans hated him. He prayed that that part was wrong.

All of that aside, Papyrus had also been having horrible and honestly bizarre nightmares, ranging from him offering a hug to a child who looked suspiciously like Frisk and getting his skull sliced clean off (The first time he had woken up from that particular dream he had had a rather severe panic attack and Undyne had been with Alphys for the night, leaving Papyrus to seriously debate calling his brother - he didn’t), to him fighting that same child and, again, being dusted. He’d even seen a few where Sans fought the strange child, getting himself killed. That one was probably his least favourite - not that he actually enjoyed any of them.

So yes, Papyrus had been feeling horrible the past few months, but he wasn’t about to talk to  _ Undyne  _ about any of that. Not yet, at the very least. 

Cross and Undyne were Papyrus’s only friends, besides his family - which, again, his relationship with his family was rocky right now at best - and now, after Cross’s sudden and unexplained leave, Unydne was all the younger skeleton had. She was strong, passionate, smart as hell, and she cared about Papyrus. She was  _ proud _ of him, she trusted him.

Papyrus wasn’t about to ruin all that by telling her his worries and having her be disappointed in him.

“I’m just worried, Paps.” Undyne leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “I’ll give you a week off. Whatever… this is, I doubt work is helping.”

“What? No, Undyne, I’m fine!” The fish woman just gave him an unconvinced look. Damn it, why did he have to be so horrible at lying? “I’ve just… had trouble sleeping recently! That’s all!”

“Then the time off will help you catch up on sleep.” 

“I don’t _need_ \- Ugh!” He stood up suddenly, frustrated. More time alone to think and worry was the exact opposite of what he needed! He needed everything to just be _normal_ and _calm_ and _god fucking damnit he just wanted his brother back_. 

“Woah! Papyrus, hey!” She was next to Papyrus already, a warm webbed hand pressed to his back. “It’s ok, just… dude, you need to talk to me about this.”

“I don’t- I’m not-” Papyrus grunted, pushing Undyne’s hand away. An upbeat song suddenly played through the air, cutting off both monsters as they both turned to look at Papyrus’s phone, still on the white table. The skeleton almost cried out of relief, snatching his phone, not bothering to look at the caller ID, and turned away from Undyne. He mumbled “I need to answer this…” to his friend - god, he hoped they were still friends - before shuffling into his room. 

His thumb was swiping over the answer button before Papyrus could even consider that maybe it wasn’t a good idea to talk to anyone when he was in such a bad headspace. “Hello?”

“Uh… hey… Papyrus.” Every inch of his body tensed as his younger sister’s voice came in through the phone, his soul clenching.

Chara had never called him before.

Her doing it now… it was a strange mix of joy and dread for Papyrus.

“Chara. Hi. Um… hi.” 

A laugh sounded on the other side of the line, though it sounded a bit fake. “How… uh. How have you been?”

“Fine. Good.” Lie. Oh well. “Is everything ok?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Everything’s… fine and good.” Was she mimicking what Papyrus had said? “Sans… hm. Frisk misses you.” Wait, what was she about to say about their oldest brother? Why did she cut herself off? Did Sans miss Papyrus too?

“I miss them too.”

An awkward, heavy silence stretched out between the two siblings.

Papyrus wanted desperately to ask how Sans and their father had been, to ask if things were ok. He hated this, hated feeling so uncomfortable with his  _ family.  _

Why couldn’t this just be easy?   
  


“I-”

“Look, Papyrus, I’m… can we hang out?” Maybe the skeleton monster should have been upset about being cut off but he was far more surprised. Underneath that surprise, however, was a rising warmth that felt like fireworks in his chest. Excitement. “It’s been… a really long time since we’ve done that. Or just like, seen each other in general-”

“Yes! Y-yes, of course we can!” This had to be a sign, right? A sign that things would go back to normal, that things would be  _ ok  _ again.

“...cool. So, uh. Hotland Mall, tomorrow? It’s a Saturday, so…”

“That works! Oh… do you need me to pick you up?” He’d prefer not to have to go to the cottage - not until he got his feelings sorted out - but he would certainly do so if Chara needed him to. He was just happy that she wanted to see him!

“No, I’ll get… er, dad to drop me off or something.” Maybe seeing Asgore would be good for Papyrus, too. He should apologize for the way he left things last time anyways. This was good. “So. Yeah. See you. Tomorrow.”

“Yup! See you then! Bye Chara!”

This was going to be the start of a new, better time. A time where Papyrus was connected to his family again, a time where he didn’t feel the need to avoid them. A time where him and his brother were close. Maybe Papyrus could manage to get closer to Chara, too - he always had been closer to Frisk.

At least, that’s what Papyrus hoped for.

*****

Sans was all for spending time with his family. Really, he was. He was a family oriented person, and normally he wouldn’t question it when one of his siblings asked to hang out with him. 

But these weren’t exactly normal circumstances.

Also, this was Chara that he was talking about - even before the revolution she didn’t spend a lot of time with Sans, nor did she ever show interest in doing so. Sans also suspected she was still a bit pissed about him seeing Red (She could say whatever she wanted, but Sans could tell she wasn’t happy about it). So why in the world had she come up to him that evening to ask if he wanted to go with her to Hotland mall tomorrow?

At first the older skeleton had just assumed she wanted a ride there, it wouldn’t have been the first time she’d asked for that sort of thing, so he had absentmindedly agreed. It wasn’t until he was in the middle of washing dishes that he realized his sister had meant she wanted to spend time  _ with  _ him. Sans would say he was excited, if it didn’t confuse him so much.

The past week had been… tense, to say the least. Sans was back to avoiding his father - he didn’t want to be asked if he’d called Papyrus yet because no, he hasn’t and he sure as hell didn’t plan on it either - and he’d only managed to see Red once or twice at the camp, which had affected his stress a lot more than he figured it would have. Sans hadn’t realized how relaxed he often felt around the other monster, and sure, they still texted practically everyday but it wasn’t really the same. On top of that, Sans was getting little to no sleep.

His nightmares had suddenly been happening more frequently, getting worse than before at times - he’d had a dream on monday where he’d seen Papyrus get dusted, the whole thing causing him to throw up way too much magic when he awoke and leave him feeling sick and exhausted all day. So, like a totally responsible adult he had been avoiding sleep all together, either by working on a medicine for Ink - he was getting close too, he was sure of it! - or by doing what he was doing right now, laying in bed and staring at the ceiling, waiting for morning to arrive. 

Or smoking. He’d be smoking a lot. Too much.

It didn’t even really help anymore.

Sans groaned, covering his eye sockets with his arm. He was beyond tired, but the last thing he wanted or needed for his health right now was to see his baby brother turn to dust right before his eyes. 

A soft knock came from his closed door, catching his attention and sounding way too loud in the quiet room. Sans sat up in bed, shivering when the chilled night air hit his arms - he was only wearing a white t-shirt and an old pair of basketball shorts - just as the wooden door to his room opened, a familiar face with a mop of brown hair poked in. 

“Bad dream, kiddo?” Frisk nodded, sniffling as they wandered into the room, Sans getting up to help his younger sibling into his bed with him. He hadn’t been the only one having nightmares recently, Frisk had had up to three, now four, just this week, and would make their way to Sans’s room to crawl into bed with him. Sans had attempted to get them to talk about what they saw, but they were adamant on keeping it to themselves.

The small human curled up to Sans’s ribs, tucking their head under their chin - how they found that comfortable, he had no idea - and let out a soft sigh.

“Hey Sans?” They whispered after a few minutes, Sans having assumed they’d fallen asleep long already. He hummed in acknowledgement. “Am I a bad person?”

“What? No, no of course not, Frisk.” He shifted so he could look at them - it was too dark to make out their features super well, but going off of the slight shine on their cheeks they had definitely been crying. “You’re a great person. Super friendly and caring, funny, and you give the best hugs.” 

The 10 year old sniffled away, wiping their eyes then cuddled close again. “You promise?”

Sans hated promises. But this? It was second nature to say “I promise” back. Of course Frisk was good, they were a kid. They didn’t know how  _ not  _ to be good. “Trust me, kiddo, you’re  _ outer  _ this world.” That earned him a small giggle.

“That one was bad.”

“But you laughed.”

“No, I didn’t.” There it was again, a sleepy giggle, this time accompanied by a yawn. 

“Get some sleep, buddy.”

His little sibling yawned, clinging weakly to his shirt. It made Sans think of all the times he and Papyrus had to sleep together on the cold, hard floor, the baby bone’s clinging to Sans for at least a bit of comfort and warmth, and the other monster doing the exact same thing.

Wait.

Wait, no, what in the  _ fuck _ was that memory?!   
  
“Nighty night Sans…”

“... Night, Frisk.” Why in the hell was Sans suddenly remembering these small details about his and his brother’s life before Asgore and Toriel? And why did they all seem so bad? Sure, he had a feeling things weren't sunshine and rainbows before, but this… this just seemed wrong.

Where had he and Papyrus come from?   
  


Exactly what had they gone through?

Sans tried to push the questions and strange new tidbit of a memory away, but they plagued him for the rest of the night.

*****

“Did you ever call him?”

Sans’s eyes flickered away from the road to glance at his sister in the passenger seat of the car, she was leaning against the door, eyes glued to the outside world passing them by. She was wearing a black turtleneck with a green and white striped crop top over it, and dark jeans; Sans was a bit worried she was going to get cold but she had insisted she’d be fine. 

And of course he knew what she was talking about, but he had to admit it irked him that she had been eavesdropping. 

Then again, that wasn’t all that surprising. He’d kind of suspected it. 

“I haven’t”

“Maybe you should.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t listen in on other people’s business.” He shot back, sighing. “Is that why you wanted to go out today? So you could interrogate me on whether or not I’ve called our brother? Because I’m really not in the mood, Chara.”

“What? No, I…” The human girl sunk down in her seat, covering her face with her auburn hair. “He’s family, Sans. We just… all hate seeing you at each other's throats like this.”

Large buildings passed as Sans drove through the streets of BlightView, pulling up to the large, two story, and honestly overly high tech mall, Hotland Mall. The building itself was sleek and minimalistic, unlike the old, slightly medieval buildings surrounding it. While those buildings were beige and made of brick and stone, most with vines growing along the sides in the spring and summer, the mall was smooth metal all around, accented with too bright orange and red neon lights. Sans pulled into the crowded parking lot.

“I know. Fuck, I know, ok?” Ordinarly, Sans would avoid swearing around his younger siblings like his life depended on it, but god damn it he was tired of having this conversation. Even Error had brought it up. Turning in his seat once the car was shifted into park, Sans met Chara’s red eyes: they were worried. “I know you all do and I hate it too. But I’m not… I can’t do that right now. I’m not ready.” 

Something flashed over Chara’s face - was that sadness? Hurt? Regret? Sans couldn’t tell - before she heaved a sigh, shaking her head. Without another word to the older monster, she unbuckled her seat belt and hopped out of the car, Sans taking the hint and following her. He was more than willing to let the subject drop.

“So, uh, don’t hate me for this, alright?” Chara suddenly piped up right before her and Sans made it to the entrance, and before the skeleton could even ask what she was talking about, he saw it.

Or, more appropriately, he saw  _ him _ .

And Papyrus saw him too, seeing as the younger, yet much taller, skeleton was staring at Sans with wide, stunned eye sockets. Paps wasn’t wearing his uniform this time around, instead he was wearing a knitted orange sweater with a bone in the center (how fitting) and skinny blue jeans. And, of course, that damn red scarf was wrapped around his neck.

Sans’s feet felt cemented to the ground, stuck in place a few feet away from Papyrus. “Pap! Hey! Uh… So, Sans came too…” Chara’s voice did nothing to cut the tension that hung heavy in the air - if anything, it made it so much worse. 

Chara hadn’t wanted to hang out with either of them. She’d planned this from the start. Maybe Sans could see that as a sweet gesture - she just wanted her two older brothers to get along again! - if he was thinking rationally, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t, not when so many feelings were jumping around like rabbits on cocaine in his skull. 

The most prominent feeling, he noted, was hurt. Anger. Relief. Anxiety.

Papyrus slowly pulled his eye sockets away from Sans to look at their sister, his confused expression changing to one of hurt. Sans hated it.

“You… didn’t actually want to hang out. You just wanted us to… nothing has changed…” His voice was too quiet. Too unsure. 

“Papyrus-”

“This won’t solve anything, don’t you know that?!” The tall monster snapped, Sans had never seen that before, and pointed a finger at Sans. “He  _ hates  _ me! This will never change!”   
  


“I never hated you.” Great, now it was Sans’s turn to sound hurt.

“Don’t… don’t lie, Sans. Don’t act like… like you haven’t cut off all ties with me just because I did what I wanted to do. Don’t act like you didn’t say… all those things.”

“Did what you wanted? Papyrus, I’m upset because you… you’re acting so goddamn blind to everything that isn’t you!” 

“Oh, like you’re any better!” Papyrus practically seethed, glaring at Sans. He’d never seen his brother so angry, agitated magic practically rolling off him like waves in a storm. The familiar heat of his magic was building in Sans’s own soul as well, his eyelights threatening to go out.

“I’m not helping the fucking tyrant who had us experimented on, so yeah, I’d say I am!” The words were out of Sans’s mouth before he could even comprehend them, before he could think about what he just stated, spat out and left to lay on the cement like an ugly lump. That lump, that  _ truth _ seemed to click something inside of Sans, a light switch being flipped into his skull. Memories, god, so many of them, came flooding into his skull like a tidal wave. 

_ The room was dark, and cold; like everything here was. Dark and cold and oh so lonely. The cell subject S found himself in was little more than an empty box of a room, with a hard tiled floor and smooth walls. Light shone in through the bars of the cell adjacent to where the subject was curled up, the too bright fluorescent lights bolted into the high ceiling causing the shadows to look deeper, bigger. Threatening. At least there was a bed for him to use, bolted right to the wall - the sheets felt like sandpaper and the pillow was, somehow, too hard, but it was better than nothing. _

_ They never gave him anything to wear, the humans in the white coats, just left him to shiver with his fragile, pearly white bones exposed. They probably did it on purpose, he concluded, pulling the coarse blanket closer around himself. Without clothes to protect himself, it was easy for them to snap a bone if he was misbehaving, or, sometimes, they did it just for fun, he was sure of it.  _

_ Subject S could hear the white coats down the hall, talking to each other with terms he heard daily, but didn’t understand. HP. LV. ATK. DEF. DT. They said his name a lot, too. “Subject S’s magic levels are too low, give him another dose.”, “S still refused to kill the subject, take him for another session.”, “His ability to control the blasters is improving, Subject S should be able to summon more than the singular one in a few weeks.” They always seemed to be talking to a small rectangular box, as well, and today, they said something that really caught the subject’s attention: “Give him another DT dose. If it’s too much, we’ll still have the other one at least.” _

_ Through the, what seven years? Is that how long he’d been alive? He… was alive, right? Whatever, that wasn’t the point. As long as he had been here, there had never been mention of “the other one” before, and it definitely got Subject S curious. He had just assumed that he was the only one like him here because a) the only person he’d seen that looked like him was the tall dark man, who the white coats called the King’s advisor, and b) he hadn’t seen any other cells than the one he was in, and it was only him here. Plus, one bed.  _

_ The small skeleton snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of shoes tapping on the tiled floor, the sound getting closer and closer and… someone was coming.  _ Click click click.  _ It didn’t sound like the white coats, their shoes didn’t sound so… sharp. But whoever it was, they were getting close.  _ Click click click.  _ Subject S bolted from the bed, abandoning his scratchy blanket, and hurried to stand before the center of the bars, the bones of his feet pattering against the icy floor.  _ Click click click. _ Soon enough, the tall man - the king’s advisor? That was someone who helped the King, right? (The subject was lucky enough to have gotten to read some books while in here, though reading was… hard, considering he had little to no help learning to read) - was standing just outside the cell bars in fine pressed clothing. The man regarded him coldly, making Subject S uncomfortable, so he averted his eyelights to study the bundle of cloth the King-advisor-man was holding. It was moving ever so slightly. _

_ “Who are you?” The subject asked, his little voice so weak and quiet, it was barely audible. But of course, Gaster heard it, and scoffed.  _

_ “I am your creator.” He opened the cell door, stepping into the dark room. Subject S took a hesitant step back.  _

_ “So… you’re like… my dad?” _ _   
  
_

_ “No. I never will be. I made you, I  _ own _ you.” The man hissed out, a strange force pulling the test subject closer. Close enough to see the small skull poking out of the bundle of blankets. A baby. “Just as I own him.” Gaster dropped the baby into Subject S’s arms, standing back up to his full height. The baby bone’s skull was more narrow than his, the Subject noted. “You and your… brother, are mine. You will do whatever I say. Or else I will kill you. Do you understand, Subject S?” _

_ “Y-yes.” He met the man’s eyes, his eyelights pinpricks, and his bone’s rattling quietly with his fear. In his arms, the baby - his brother? That certainly felt right to say - whined, squirming in his blankets. _

_ “Good. See that you never forget.” The man turned and left the cell, locking the bars. “Oh, and I’m scheduling four sessions for you tomorrow instead of two.” _

_ The small skeleton cringed at the thought of what the white coats would do to him tomorrow, and waited until Gaster was gone and he could no longer hear the  _ Click click click _ of his boots before shuffling over to the bed. The baby was awake now, looking up at Subject S with big, curious eye sockets. “Hello. I’m… your big brother.” He whispered. “Your name is… Papyrus. Paps for short!” The baby smiled and giggled (The older skeleton almost laughed when said giggle sounded like “Nyeh heh heh”) “And my name is…” Subject S wasn’t really a name, was it? It wasn’t like he’d been called anything else, though. “... Sans. But you can just call me brother, ok?” _

_ His brother, Papyrus, giggled again, squirming in his arms until the small baby’s arms were hugging the other’s skull. _

_ Blue tears welled up in his eye sockets. _

_ He wasn’t alone.  _

_ He silently promised that from now on, he’d do everything he could to protect his brother. _

_ Sans wouldn’t let anyone hurt his brother.  _

Sans and Papyrus gasped simultaneously, the older of the two stumbling back as his hand flew up to hold his pounding skull. He could feel his magic burning in his left eye socket, pooling into a mist and leaking blue and yellow smoke. A similar thing was happening in Papyrus’s right socket, though it was a pure and bright orange, and he looked so scared. So scared and broken and confused and…

Hurt. 

So hurt.

“Sans…”

The older of the two was reeling; he and Papyrus had been  _ test subjects.  _ Test subjects that Gaster - fucking  _ Gaster _ \- had  _ made _ . How?! Clearly both skeletons had souls - Sans had seen his before! And it acted like any other normal soul! - and it was impossible to create life.  _ Impossible. _

This wasn’t happening

He was normal.

He was a  _ normal monster _ .

He had to be. There was already so much wrong with him, and now this? Now he wasn’t even a monster, he was a goddamn science experiment.

And Papyrus… 

Was that why Gaster let Papyrus into the royal guard at such a young age? What the fuck was he planning to do to Sans’s brother?!   
  


More magic pooled into his eye socket, flaring around him, while Papyrus was giving Sans that same worried and scared; and Chara - god, Chara, Sans had forgotten she was even here - was looking so confused. 

He couldn’t do this. 

Sans spun around, hurrying away, to his car, to safety, ignoring the calls of his siblings as he practically ran away.

He needed to calm down or he was going to end up snapping and doing something he’d regret.

He needed something stable.

He needed Red.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe cliffhanger >:)
> 
> I hope you all liked this chapter, it was honestly really fun to write
> 
> Also! I made a DystopianTale discord server! So feel free to come check that out: https://discord.gg/8MKNbvJC5H


	17. ~Chapter 17~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/B5l28mWAbPj/?igshid=8pwo38p4b4fh) or [Tumblr](https://offical-dystopiantale.tumblr.com/post/186610765986/hello-welcome-to-the-official-blog-for-my-au)

The problem was Sans had no idea where Red lived - the topic just hadn’t come up before, and they’d only been on one date so far, so it didn’t even  _ occur _ to Sans to ask for his address. So here he was, hyperventilating in his car, pulled off to the side of the road after driving aimlessly for, what, half an hour? His soul ached, more than it had in years - he probably had a new crack - and god dammit his skull was just too full. He wasn’t thinking as he pulled out his phone, dialed Red’s number, and held it to his skull, tears welling up in his sockets.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he wasn’t supposed to see Papyrus yet.

He wasn’t supposed to  _ remember _ . 

“Sans? What’s up?” 

God, what was he thinking? He shouldn’t have called Red; this was too much. He wanted to go  _ slow _ , and this… he couldn’t explain this. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, he _ couldn’t _ -

“...Sans?” 

“Sorry, sorry, I don’t-” His voice cracked, his grip tightening on his phone. What was he supposed to say? He could barely wrap his head around the memories himself - there was nothing before Papyrus, so he still had seven forgotten years he couldn’t account for, but what he _did_ remember was cold, and filled with pain and fear-- so much fear. And god, he was scared. What if Gaster hurt Papyrus? What if he gets dusted and Sans has no idea because of this stupid argument? 

If Sans remembered all of this, did that mean Paps remembered too?

“Where are ya?” Sans was pulled out of his turmoil by Red’s steady voice, a tear sliding down his cheek. “Are you at home?”

“No, I… I’m on..” He looked around for a sign, a building, or anything he recognized. In hindsight, driving around while his skull was filled with a dark, thick fog wasn’t a great idea. “...Echo Ave.”

“Ok. Ok, can ya still drive?” Sans made a confirming noise - something between a sob and a hum. “‘M gonna give ya my address, ok? Yer not that far.”

“Red-”

“Not takin’ no for an answer here.” Red grunted, and if it wasn’t for the aching pain in his head (Had his eyelights seriously been out this whole time?) and soul, Sans probably would have argued more. But he was exhausted.

After relaying his address, Red ended the call. Sans gripped the steering wheel, sucking in a breath through his teeth; his soul was screaming at him that this was a bad idea. He needed to get his shit together before seeing his boyf- Red. He can’t rush into this, he can’t go running to the taller skeleton, sobbing like a complete mess; he can’t tell him what just happened, what he just remembered.

As if on cue, a memory resurfaced again, this time of a tiny, tiny Papyrus - he had to be only two or three - strapped to a chair, screaming and crying for Sans. Or was Sans the one screaming? One of the white coats - scientists - was saying something, then a switch was flipped and-

Sans shook the memory from his head, a groan slipping past his teeth. Like it or not, Sans knew he couldn’t be alone right now; he was in pain, and trembling, and his magic was low - who knew getting flashbacks like that could trigger your magic that much? And to top it all off, Sans definitely felt like he was going to throw up what little magic was still in his system.

Somewhat begrudgingly, Sans pulled his car out onto the street, trying to clear his skull. Every time a memory came floating back, brought on by the most random things or he remembered his younger brother’s hurt and confused expression, his breathing hitched and tears threatened to fall from his sockets again. Thank god Red was right about him being close: it was only a 15 minute drive. 

It was a quiet neighborhood, one Sans had driven by before since it was so close to Chara’s school, and, from what he knew, a lot of families lived in the area (That thought alone made Sans’s soul beat faster which was definitely  _ not _ necessary.). The house with Red’s address wasn’t too special - a simple one story home that looked the same as the two next to it, only it was grey and the other two were white and beige. There wasn’t a car in the driveway - Red likely kept his own car in the garage - so he pulled onto the driveway, parking and turning off the engine. 

Red was rushing to Sans as soon as the monster had opened the car door, and any semblance of composure Sans had regained immediately snapped. He was a sobbing and shaking mess by the time his partner had managed to coax him through the front door. Inside was warm, and smelled distinctly like Red. They were in a small foyer with a rack and shelf for shoes and jackets, and there was a welcome mat just inside the door (Which had a silhouette of a whale on it and said  _ “Whale Hello There”.  _ If Sans wasn’t currently crying into Red’s shirt he would have laughed). He couldn’t see much more of the house as Red pulled him close, hugging him tightly. He was so warm, so sturdy, Sans melted and a week of stress lifted off his shoulders as he gripped his - fine, he’ll say it - boyfriend’s shirt, and he cried. He cried and shuddered and wailed until he physically couldn’t. By that point he had gagged and torn away from Red, having to be ushered to the bathroom so he could throw up.

Flushing down the bright blue liquid magic, Sans leaned against the tiled bathroom wall, pulling his knees to his ribs. Guess his whole “don’t run to Red crying” idea was just forcefully thrown out the window; his skull did feel a bit lighter now, at least. His soul, on the other hand, felt like it was on fire. That was a lot of magic he just pushed out, and the strain was palpable, and going off the constant, dull stabbing feeling, he either had a new crack or an old one had reopened. 

A steady hand was placed on his shoulder, Sans recoiling from the touch like it had burned him. Hurt briefly flashed over Red’s features but the other monster was quick to mask in, sitting down next to Sans (noticeably with a space between them.) and pressed a glass of water into his hands. “Here. Drink.”

Sans did so without complaint, sipping as the cold water soothed his throat - it must have gotten sore from all his crying, but he hadn’t noticed beforehand. “...Thanks.” 

After a moment of silence, the taller of the two reached out to gently hold Sans’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Ya want ta talk ‘bout what just happened…?” 

“Not really, but I should, shouldn’t I?” A deep hum came from beside him. “... Chara got me and Papyrus to meet at Hotland mall, both of us not knowing the other would be there and… we had an argument, and… before I couldn’t remember anything before mom and dad adopted us, you know? But now…” A disbelieving laugh bubbled up in his throat, Sans shaking his skull. “It’s like a dam burst open in my head.”

With another gentle squeeze, Red spoke up - his voice was quieter than usual. “None of them were good, I take it…?”

“God, no. No, they…” His “throat” felt like it was closing up, tying itself into a knot and stopping Sans from finishing his sentence - how could he tell Red his past? They’d been on  _ one date _ , and now Sans was about to tell this man his deepest secret, a secret that he quite literally just found out himself? How would Red even react to Sans telling him he wasn’t even a real monster? He and his brother were just crazy lab experiments, beings made from test tubes and god knows what else. Red would be disgusted. How could he not be?

He would leave. 

“Sans, hey…” The hand around Sans’s pulled away, moving around his waist and pulling him closer to Red’s chest. “Ya don’t have ta talk ‘bout it, ok? … But if ya do, I’ll listen. I ain’t going anywhere.”

His words warmed Sans’s aching soul, and he had to push down another sob. He was tired of crying. “I-I can’t… Red, I… before I remembered all of this, I was fucked up. B-but this…” He buried his face into his boyfriend’s red shirt; he smelled like a campfire. “I don’t want to scare you off…”

Warm hands cupped Sans’s cheeks, forcing him to make eye contact with Red. His eyelight was steady, worried, and still that warm, deep red. “Look, Sans. I get wantin’ to go slow, I get not bein’ ready to talk ‘bout certain things. But I care ‘bout ya. Shit, I’ve never felt this way before. ‘N I can tell yer hurtin’ and I want ta  _ help _ .” His thumb stroked Sans’s cheek, and it took Sans everything in him not to sob again. “... So if right now, ya need ta talk about what happened, I’ll listen. Or we can just go watch a movie if ya want. Either way ‘m stayin’ right next ta ya. I promise.”

His soul felt like it was going to burst - it was warm and fuzzy and pounding in his chest - and Sans had never felt so safe, and yet so scared at the same time. He cared about Red so much and he barely knew him, and god, he knew, deep down, he knew he could trust this man. And he did.

He trusted him with his whole soul.

But this was so fast, and despite the trust he was still scared. Scared of losing Red.

But maybe for once he can put his fears on the back burner. Maybe he can take a leap of faith. He won’t tell Red everything yet - he needed time to wrap his head around this situation first - but he will. He’ll tell him everything. 

Sans shifted closer, lifting his skull and pressing his teeth to Red’s in a gentle kiss. It obviously surprised the other man, but it didn’t take long for him to kiss back, hands on Sans’s hips. Pulling back, there was a soft smile on Red’s face, his cheeks dusted red. Sans could feel his own face burning up as he grinned back.

“I’ll tell you… I promise, I will. But… Can we just watch something? Just be normal for a few hours…?”

“‘Course we can.” Red seemed more than happy to be in the kissing stage already, considering he left two kisses on Sans’s skull in the time it took to stand back up. Sans didn’t mind. “And Sans? Take yer time, ok? We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Sans smiled, giving Red’s hand a squeeze. “Thank you.”

He was right, there was no rush. There doesn’t need to be a deadline on figuring out what happened in his past. He can take his time. He can clear his head and relax for one afternoon before focusing on what he’s going to do about Papyrus, what he’s going to do about his past.

… and he didn’t need to do it alone. He  _ wasn’t  _ alone. He has friends.

He has Red.

*****

Papyrus’s head hurt.

...No, hurt wasn’t the right word for this pain. It was so much more than “hurting”. It was an agonizing pounding in his skull, like someone was striking the bone with a sledgehammer over and over and over again. Cracking the bone. And he was shattering, he had to be, that was the only way to explain what he was feeling. But no, he was still here, still whole. Somehow. 

He pressed farther into the blanket wrapped around himself, a quiet whimper escaping him. It was dark now, well past midnight he was sure. The headphones on his skull were playing music in hopes of it calming him (it didn't). So the music, coupled with the fact that his bedroom door was shut and locked, had him wondering if Undyne had come home yet. But he had more important things to think about.

He just couldn't wrap his head around what he had seen in front of the mall. It was like bits and pieces of a puzzle were thrown into his head - cold floors, hard chairs and restrains, darkness, mind numbing pain,  _ Sans _ \- and whenever he tried to pull those memories back, it made his head pound with a greater vengeance. It was almost like something was  _ trying  _ to stop him from solving whatever this was. A mental wall of some sort.

He couldn't help but wonder if Sans was dealing with this too; he had to guess he was, considering how fast he left and the expression on his face. Speaking of Sans, what the hell had been with what he said?  _ “I’m not helping the fucking tyrant who had us experimented on.”.  _ Gaster… why would the king want to do that to two random skeletons? That can’t be true, can it? The king was supposed to be  _ good.  _ But… god, it was getting hard to see that. Both from Nightmare’s speech - which he  _ had  _ seen, and he couldn’t help but feel revolted when the prince had been suddenly attacked - and now from these weird fragmented memories that seemed to line up with what Sans said about Gaster doing experiments. But…  _ why?  _ Why would the king, the ruler of the whole city, the one that’s supposed to take care of everyone else, be bad? __ He rubbed his right eye socket frustratedly (it felt like it had been burning earlier, he hadn't even known his magic could do that!), feeling exhausted; both physically and emotionally.

Papyrus had been somewhat relieved that Chara didn't try to talk to him when he drove her home earlier; Sans had originally been her ride but he had obviously taken off, and Papyrus wasn't about to leave his sister without a way home. Even if he was cross with her right now. The drive had been quiet, the air in the car having felt like tar, sticky and heavy with the siblings' apprehension. Papyrus hadn’t even waited to make sure Chara wasn't locked out of the house before driving off; which, thinking back now, made his metaphorical gut twist with guilt. Chara must be so freaked out, so worried about her two brothers and Papyrus had done nothing to help quell those worries. Maybe he should text her?

… No, no that could lead to another argument - he was still hurt that the only reason she had even planned to meet at the mall was to trick Papyrus into talking with their older brother - and an argument was the last thing he wanted or needed right now. 

What he did need was something to get rid of this goddamn headache. 

Papyrus groaned as he sunk down from his sitting position to laying on his side, his headphones still on - the song playing now had a good beat and in any other circumstance it would have uplifted Paps, maybe even made him dance. Curiously he glanced at his phone screen, the too bright light making his headache protest with another wave of pain but he found that the song was called “Bravery”, apparently made by someone who went by the name “Napstablook”.

Funny. Papyrus sure didn’t feel brave. Quite the opposite, actually.

And he also didn’t feel a drop of bravery when he passed out from the pain in his skull two hours later.

*****

Ink could tell when Error was reaching his limit.

There were certain ticks he showed whenever he was overly stressed: constantly rubbing or itching his forearms, repeatedly cracking his joints, and speaking in short, clipped sentences. 

The most obvious sign, however, was that Error started sleeping less and less.

It wasn’t too noticeable at first: Error would be wide awake by the time Ink awoke, and the shorter skeleton just assumed he woke up first - he usually did - but then the ebony skeleton stopped going to bed at the same time as Ink, claiming he just needed “five more minutes!” and then he’d come to bed. Five minutes turned to ten, and ten became twenty and so on. The dark circles under his lover’s eye sockets only made Ink more worried.

“Baby, come to bed. Please?”

Error’s eyes flickered up from his makeshift desk, giving Ink a sympathetic look. “Hun, I have to make sure everything is ready for-”

“Next week. Yeah, yeah, I  _ know _ . You’ve been saying that all week!” Ink interjected, sitting up on their makeshift bed, feeling a bit frustrated - he was blaming his pregnancy for his sudden lack of patience - and balled his hands into fists. “You’ve gone through the plans more times than I can count at this point, we’re ready, Error.”

“We don’t… I might have missed something. I’ll just look over the plans one more time.” Ink let out a groan, pushing himself off the bed and shuffling over to his fiance, hugging him from behind. “You should get some sleep, it’s late.”

“Not without you.” Ink said stubbornly, rubbing his nasal ridge against Error’s cheek in a gentle nuzzle. “I’m worried about you, you’re not sleeping enough.” The ebony skeleton let out a quiet grunt, shifting so that he could wrap his larger arms around Ink’s hips. “Let me… let me help you relax, ok…?”

Cocking an eyebrow, Error failed to hide a tired looking smirking. “Er, sorry babe, but I’m not really in the mood for a blow-” He was cut off by Ink smacking his arm, a snort erupting from Error. 

“You always make that joke! And I’m being serious here!” Ink pouted, continuing once his partner had calmed back down again. “Look, Error, I know… I know how worried you are, about the twins. But we’re ok… and… and I want to show you that.”

“Show me… how?” Error asked, his playful attitude replaced with a more somber, almost cautious one - normally Ink would feel guilty about changing his lover’s mood, he usually loved to see Error laugh and smile, but what he wanted to do wasn’t really something to laugh at. And besides, it’ll get Error smiling for a different reason.

Pulling the ebony skeleton onto the bed with him, Ink scooted until their knees were touching. “I want to touch souls.” Error’s eyes widened, his mouth forming a small circle. The reaction wasn’t necessarily surprising: the two of them hadn’t done anything with their souls since bonding almost 4 months ago, not with how busy things had been; mixed with spending time with their new friends (Ink was absolutely positive there was something between Red and Sans and he has been just dying to tease his friend about the likely crush). That being said, Ink did  _ want  _ to share his soul with his lover again, but this time not to mold the two inverted hearts together, but just to hold them, to hold each other, and feel the other’s warmth and love.

“Ink…I…” Error hesitated, and Ink could feel an echo of his self-consciousness. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do something so…” He waved his hand, tapping his phalanges together as he thought about his words, carefully cherry picking them, Ink was sure. “... intimate just because I’m stressed. Not if it’s something you don’t want to do.”

“Of course I want to do it.” The smaller monster’s voice was firm but gentle as he poured as much love for the man before him into his soul as he could. 

Error hesitated for another moment before nodding, reaching over to squeeze Ink’s hand gently. “... Ok. Ok, let’s… do it. I want to too.”

Smiling, Ink leaned up to kiss his fiance, his hands pulling at the hem of the blue shirt the man was wearing. A breathy chuckle left Error, and the two split to pull off their shirts, two phalanges trailing down Ink’s torso. In a month the two soulings connected to his soul will detach themselves and move to Ink’s “womb” of sorts to form bodies for themselves, and well, Ink was a skeleton and clearly lacked any sort of stomach or place for the twins to grow. So his magic would make a place in the form of an ecto body. The gleaming, semi translucent muscle gave off a soft glow in the dark, and wrapped around Ink’s femers and tucked into that void area between his pelvis and ribcage. 

“Ready?” Error nodded, and Ink raised his hand to Error’s sternum, the ebony skeleton doing the same with him, and when Ink withdrew his hand the small, dark blue soul trailed behind it. He could tell Error was also cradling Ink’s own soul, but that wasn’t what this was about. This was about Error, it was about making him feel better. 

His white phalanges carefully wrapped around the inverted heart, holding it with all the care in the world, and Ink brought it closer to him, nuzzling the surface. If he had been holding his own soul, Ink knew he’d be overcome with his own emotions, but it wasn’t the same when holding another’s soul. Yes, Ink could still feel the whisper of Error’s emotions, and if he looked he could see a part of his soul in the center of his partner’s, but he couldn’t feel anything more just holding the heart. They’d actually need to connect souls for that, and, well, neither of them wanted to do anything that could risk the twin’s health. Besides, Ink was more than happy to simple shower the culmination of his lover’s being with kisses and gentle strokes.

Error called his name, his voice cracking, causing Ink to finally pull his eyes away from the beautiful soul nestled against his palms. There his soul was, washing Error’s features in a constantly changing light, glinting against the wetness pooling in the corners of his eye sockets. “Look at them… fuck, Ink, they’re so small…” It took the smaller man a minute to realize what Error was talking about, his gaze dropping to the swirling magic that was his soul, and a gasp left his lips. Pressed to the sides of his soul, close to the center, were the two tiny soulings, one a mix of teal, yellow and pink, and the other a turquoise (Ink noted that the second one was smaller, but that observation was pushed aside by his sheer awe of seeing his babies’ souls).

“Oh, Glitchy… It’s them… our babies… our little PJ and Gradient…” A quiet, wavering laugh left Error, and soon enough Ink was crying with him, overwhelmed with joy and relief and a strong sense of pride. They did this, they had created the two beings tied to Ink’s soul, and even though the two of them hadn't even been born yet, Ink was so incredibly proud of them. 

Ink had no idea how long they stayed like that, cupping each other's souls and crying over their unborn children but eventually they returned their souls where they belong and curled up under the bedsheets, and by then exhaustion was washing over the small monsters.

“Ink… please stay here next week. I can’t…” Error’s yellow and blue eyelights met Ink’s gaze, a desperate sense of pleading behind them. “I don’t want to risk losing you three…” 

Ink hated the idea - he wasn’t weak, he could very easily take care of himself - but he couldn’t blame Error for being so worried, especially after that. Plus, the twins were getting ready to detach and Ink could feel the drain of his magic, meaning he very well could be a liability out there.

“... ok.” He mumbled, tucking his head under Error’s chin. “Get some sleep, Erry. Love you.”

“Love you too.” A moment of silence passed before Error’s teeth pressed against Ink’s forehead in a kiss. “Thank you.”

Error, thankfully, slept long and without any disturbances that night, and much to Ink’s pleasure, the dark skeleton seemed to be in higher spirits the following day. 

*****

Alphys didn’t get much down time, and when she did, she usually spent it with her girlfriend.

But, of course, there were times when Undyne was busy, and Alphys had to find something else to do.

She could always watch anime, or read manga or something similar (which she did do a lot of the time, if she’s being honest with herself.), but sometimes she got an itch in her soul that begged her to do something with her claws, to move, to be productive in some way. When it came to times like that, the small reptilian monster was very grateful that the king allowed her to have a lab of her own. 

At first all she did in that room was fiddle and play around with circuit boards and screws, small personal projects here and there. It was somewhat therapeutic.

Then she met someone and took on a more…  _ important _ project.

With a shaky breath, Alphys pushed in the passcode on the pad beside her lab door - why the king couldn’t have designed a door with a normal key, she didn’t know - and the automatic doors slid open with an audible  _ “whoosh” _ , and Alphys entered into the darkened room, a soft pink glow coming from the corner of the room. With the doors shut behind her, she flicked on the light; the best way to describe the rather small, square room would be “an organized mess”. The long counter against the far wall was hidden under stacks of papers and various metal bits and tools, along with what would eventually be a torso for a robotic body and Alphys’s laptop. She also had a few action figures mixed with the clutter, and a few anime posters pinned to the walls. Adjacent to that wall was a storage cabinet and a rack holding up a pair of robotic legs and arms. Then there was the source of the previous pink glow: a ghost monster pressed against the wall, doing something on the phone Alphys had given (AKA made!) for him. His black hair was somewhat curly and looked as if it floated around his head, the strands that were bright pink falling over his right eye. Floating a few centimeters from his chest was a see through image of his soul - it was just energy from the real thing, which was still safely in his chest. Eventually, the monster’s uncovered, pink eye flickered up to alphys, and he smiled. “Alphie, darling, good to see you!”

“H-hi M-Mettaton..” She gave him an anxious smile back, shuffling over to get back to her work. In all honesty, she had assumed ghost monsters had gone extinct during the war, like pixies, goblins and frogits, so it had been quite a shock when Mettaton showed himself to her about a year ago. From what Mett had told her, plus what she found in history books and old records, the first King and Queen of BlightView passed a law that made it illegal for ghosts to live in the city unless they had possessed a physical body; the reasoning had been a pain in the ass to figure out thanks to it being translated from old monster dialect - monsters didn’t always speak english, inside having used “fonts” but it had been thousands of years since anyone used that old form of speaking (Though Mettaton could apparently do so fluently, and it had been a treat to hear) - and because of the overcomplicated diplomatic way it was written, but Alphys had gleaned that the law was put in place because A) ghosts had the ability to “cloak” their presence and become, for lack of a better word, invisible, and B) because ghosts were effectively immortal, and the only thing that  _ could  _ kill them was another ghost.

So, to put things simply, Alphys’s secret friend here had absolutely no rights unless he had a body.

That just wouldn’t do.

She had agreed to make a body for Mettaton, and she promised she’d make it however he wanted. Alphys’s hadn’t expected that to make the ghost monster cry so much. 

Mett was still somewhat of a mystery to her; however, he liked to gush about his cousin, Napstablook, a lot, and he could talk at length about what he was looking forward to doing once he had a corporeal body, but yet seemed adamant on keeping his past a secret. Not that Alphys could blame him, if he didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t have to. But she had to admit she was curious. Especially when she noticed him zoning out or whenever he became uncharastically quiet, or when he occasionally flinched away from her. 

Shaking those thoughts from her head, she focused back on the circuitry in the chest plate, carefully nudging parts aside to double check wiring, while Mettaton rambled about a new show he’d found - something about the devil solving murder cases. 

She couldn’t stop her thoughts from wandering back to the ongoing rebellion. God, she wished she could do something more to help - all she’d done is try to get Dream to remember Cross. She hadn’t even talked to her  _ girlfriend  _ about everything that was really happening, and if anyone could make a difference in the royal guard it would be Undyne, and  _ Alphys didn’t know how to say anything-  _

But maybe…

“U-um… Mett, d-do… have you b-been paying a-attention to… um, the n-news…?”

“Hm? Oh, of course darling. I can’t believe someone attacked the poor prince, but then the little guy swooped in? So romantic!”

“Y-yeah… um, so, a-about that…” Mettaton raised an eyebrow and hummed, prompting her to continue. Here goes nothing. “I-I… I need y-you to do something for me…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind me as I... *dumps a big ol' can of lore* there we go!
> 
> What do y'all think Alphys wants to ask Mettaton to do? I'd love to hear your theories!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my own personal AU that I've been planning for about a year now, and I'm super excited to actually actually be working and posting it! For more info of the AU itself, please check out my tumblr that I linked above, and feel free to dm me on tumblr or instagram at anytime, I'm pretty friendly.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the chapter and I would live to hear from you all in the comments!


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